


The Art Of Loving

by xXdreameaterXx



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Art School, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Obsessive Behavior, Recreational Drug Use, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-10 10:19:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 45,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5581972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXdreameaterXx/pseuds/xXdreameaterXx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clara Oswald decides to take up painting and starts attenting a class. From day one she has a huge crush on her eccentric art teacher John Smith who calls himself The Doctor. Yet he only seems to see her as his muse and Clara wonders if their unlikely friendship could possibly turn into more before the painting class is over. However the Doctor appears to be utterly oblivious to her advances and human feelings in general. Twelve/Clara, mentions of Twelve/Missy, Clara/Danny and Amy/Rory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Clara Oswald stuffed her pencils and her newly bought sketchbook into her bag and headed out of her apartment door when suddenly her phone started to ring. As she walked she searched her bag for it and eventually recovered it from the depths of her purse.  
“Hey, Danny, what's up?” she asked, turning into the direction of the bus station.  
“I was just wondering if you'll come to the pub tonight. It's karaoke night and I thought that was fun the last time,” he asked.  
“I'm sorry, I can't,” she apologized, “My art class starts today. I'm already on my way.”  
“Where is it? Maybe you could join us at the pub afterwards.”  
“Yeah, maybe,” Clara muttered, slightly distracted because just as she was walking around the corner she saw that her bus had arrived, “I'm sorry, Danny. Gotta go. Bye!”

Clara hung up, dashed towards the bus and jumped through the doors at the last second. Completely out of breath she fell into the first empty seat as the bus began to drive off into the direction of the Royal College of Art where her class would be taking place. She had been looking forward to it for weeks, having enrolled completely on a whim because, if Clara was quite honest, she was utterly bored with her own life.  
It was a recent development but one that bothered her greatly. She used to be different. She used to be balanced and happy but lately her job as a teacher and her teacher friends were starting to weary her. Lately she had been feeling slightly on edge, moody even and Clara was starting to hate herself for that. Just the thought of hanging out with Danny and the other teachers at the pub like every Friday annoyed her. It was always the same. They talked about their work and their students, occasionally their private life and a couple of weeks ago, after a few drinks, Clara had confessed to a colleague about how she was feeling at the moment and her colleague had suggested that maybe she should find a new hobby.  
The next day, after tending to her hangover, Clara had thought about it a little further and come to the conclusion that maybe it wasn't a stupid idea after all. As a teenager she had dabbled in drawing and painting and she had liked it even though her attempts had never really led anywhere. Yet she thought that maybe with some guidance she could become better at it and that was how Clara had found herself in front of her laptop, researching classes for drawing and painting. One class, taught by a man named John Smith at the Royal College of Art had caught her attention and a lucky coincidence of someone else dropping out had opened up a spot for Clara to fill.  
She was excited about it, really excited and above all she was confident that channelling some of her energy into something creative would help her restless spirit calm down and relax. After all, Clara had too much spare time on her hands anyway ever since she and Danny had broken up.  
She realized that this phase she was in had probably begun before the breakup because her discontent with a normal, boring relationship had been one of the reasons. She simply had always been one for adventure and excitement. Her first love, Nina, had been exciting because it had happened in secret. Clara had loved the mystery and the hiding and to this day her family didn't know that _her best friend Nina_ had actually been _her girlfriend Nina_. However that relationship had ended when Nina had decided she wanted to go public. Clara hadn't been afraid or ashamed but she simply hadn't wanted that sort of relationship. Clara had realized that her love for Nina had lasted only as far as their secrecy. Her second love, a crazy Swedish boy with a name she couldn't even pronounce had been exciting as well. Together they had backpacked across Europe during their semester break until he had dumped her on Christmas Eve – but not before showing up naked to her parents' Christmas dinner. Clara had been heartbroken but the wounds had healed eventually. After him came Danny. Sweet, ordinary Danny, her colleague and friend. There had been no excitement there and six months later Clara had decided to end it because she had always thought she was better off alone than in a relationship that she knew was leading nowhere. Luckily Danny had taken it well and they still remained friends, even though Clara still caught him looking at her sometimes as if he was thinking about her in more than just a friendly manner.  
Maybe, just maybe Clara would meet someone. It certainly wasn't the reason why she had enrolled in this art class and it had only crossed her mind later but dating an artist didn't seem like a such a bad thing. At least he or she would have a hobby and not be fixated on her the entire time like Danny had been. 

Clara got off the bus at the Kensington Royal Albert Hall stop and turned around to corner to where the entrance of the college building was. Checking her phone again to make sure she remembered the right room number she soon found it. It was exactly like she had imagine it to be, a room filled with easels and stools and all the equipment one could possible need for drawing and painting, from canvases to sketchbooks to pencils and brushes in all shapes and sizes. There wasn't a spot on the wall that wasn't covered with a painting or drawing and Clara figured that these had all been done by students yet one painting stood out immediately and she found herself drawn to it. It showed a portrait of a sleeping woman with flaming red hair and the first thing Clara noticed was that every stroke was done masterfully. If a student had done this he or she must have had real talent.  
When finally she was ready to look away Clara turned around and took a place in the back next to another young woman who seemed utterly nervous, jiggling her legs and apparently unable to sit still.  
“I'm so excited,” she said to her once Clara had sat down, “I'm such a fan of the Doctor and I was so lucky to finally get into his class. I've been on the waiting list for a year.”  
“The Doctor?” Clara raised an eyebrow, looking at the nervous woman.  
She seemed dumbfounded now. “The Doctor? John Smith? The artist who is teaching this class? Oh, he's a genius!”  
“Uhm,” Clara spluttered, “Well, I know he's called John Smith.”  
“In the art world he calls himself The Doctor, that's how he signs all of his paintings and he is the best, trust me,” with a sigh she turned to the painting Clara had admired mere moments ago, “Ah, to be like her.”  
“Like who?” Clara asked but she never got an answer. The entire class turned their attention to the door and Clara turned around and saw him.

She felt as if some sort of electric shock had shot right through her stomach and Clara was sure that she was now blushing mercilessly. John Smith, the Doctor, was _hot_. No, he was more than that. He was handsome in the absolutely best of ways and Clara's heart immediately began to hammer against her chest.  
“Good afternoon,” he greeted them all with a smile, “My name is John Smith but if you like – and I would prefer it that way – you can call me the Doctor.”  
The Doctor wasn't just good looking, he was also very, very Scottish Clara soon realized and his deep, gravelly voice made her shiver.  
The Doctor scanned the room with his gaze and stopped when he spotted her. He blinked, looked at his feet for a second before he turned back towards her and granted her an almost mischievous smile. Oh God, Clara must really be blushing and he must have noticed it.  
As he went on to explain that he was actually an artist and teaching college students at this very facility but loved to give extra classes Clara found her attention soon drift off. His head was a tousled mess of grey curls, the kind that probably felt as soft as it looked, his face framed by an elegant pair of dark rimmed glasses and his chin showed the early stages of a beard. His clothes were dark and fitted, showing off his scrawny but strong looking figure and his hands. . . Clara thought that they must surely be the ones of an artist with long, elegant fingers (and no ring, as she noticed) and the thought of those fingers handling a brush made her mind wander to other places immediately. It took her less than five minutes to determine that she was utterly and undeniably attracted to him. 

“Okay, and now to the subject that you all came here for,” he announced, tearing Clara out of her daydream, “Art. Today I suggest we start with something easy and possibly slightly overdone. I don't want to bore you with theories of colours and shadow and light today. We can do that next week. So let's start with a pencil sketch instead.”  
The Doctor turned around and retrieved a basket filled with plastic fruit from one of the shelves, placing it in the centre of the room.  
“You can use your own pencils or pick any of those lying around the room,” the Doctor told them.  
Clara rummaged around in her bag until she found her pencils and opened her sketchbook, yet after the first few strokes she heard a voice right next to her.  
“Uhm, Doctor,” the woman next to her raised her hand, “I have a question.”  
_Oh God, don't call him here. Don't call him here_ , Clara thought and straightened her back. She had been so glad to finally be able to concentrate on something other than the man in front of her.  
“Could you have a look at this, please?” the woman asked and Clara bowed over her own sketchbook again so she wouldn't even be tempted to look at the Doctor from up close. She had come here to find a new hobby. Finding a man had been optional. And developing a crush on her art teacher had certainly _not_ been the plan.  
Among the sound of scribbling pencils Clara could hear the Doctor slowly step closer and when he came to a halt next to her she was immediately overwhelmed by the smell of his cologne. She inhaled deeply, but then decided to concentrate on her drawing instead.  
“What's your name?” the Doctor asked in a low voice that seemed to resonate along her spine and made her stomach tingle. He was close. Too close. And all of a sudden it dawned on Clara that he was talking to her. She shot around.  
“I, erm,” she spluttered, “Clara. Clara Oswald.”  
She looked right at him, determined to keep a straight face despite the fact that the proximity made her nervous. He simply smiled at her.  
“You have beautiful eyes, Clara Oswald.”

The Doctor walked away, leaving her utterly perplexed and confused. What was that supposed to mean? Clara kept thinking about it throughout the entire class even though she had vowed to pay attention to her drawing and her apple ended up having more of a pear shape. She was about to rip out the page, crumple it and throw it away when the Doctor announced that for this day the class would be over and he would be seeing all of them in a week.  
Of course the woman who had sat next to Clara packed her things in a hurry and rushed to the other side of the room to speak to the Doctor, making Clara take a mental note about not sitting next to her ever again while she packed her own pencils back into her bag, probably more slowly than she should have because the room was emptying quickly. When Clara turned to leave the Doctor was standing right behind her, hands in his pockets and smiling at her again.  
“Oh my God, you scared me,” Clara almost jumped up when she spotted him.  
“I'm sorry,” he replied with a smirk, “I didn't mean to do that, Clara Oswald.”  
She nodded and was about to make her way past him when the Doctor spoke again.  
“Do you have plans for tonight, Clara?” he asked her.  
“Uhm,” the question caught her off guard, “No, not really. Why?”  
The Doctor laughed, a little sheepishly. “I love your eyes. They're like amber when they catch the light. I would like to paint you. If you don't mind, of course.”  
Clara raised her eyebrows at him.  
“Why don't you come to my place, uhm, let's say at 8? I live at Kensington Court, the little house squeezed into the corner. You really can't miss it.”  
“You want me to come to your house?” she asked in disbelief and suddenly it didn't sound like he just wanted to paint her at all. And if Clara was right about that the Doctor was moving pretty fast.  
“Only if you don't mind,” he laughed nervously, “But that is where I have my studio.”  
Clara considered it for a moment. She was definitely attracted to him. He seemed single. He appeared to be nice.  
“Alright,” Clara agreed before her brain had even processed her decision, “Kensington Court, house in the corner, I'll be there at 8.”


	2. Chapter 2

What had she done? What on earth had she agreed to? Had her libido really gone ahead and decided to go over to a handsome stranger's house she had only just met? Clara couldn't believe she was actually doing this and yet she went home and headed straight to the shower, washing the day off of her and shaving her legs before she came to stand in front of her closet. She should wear something sexy but casual, not giving off the impression that she was too desperate for him when in fact she was. The Doctor was just. . . Clara groaned when her mind attempted to put her attraction into words. He was the most handsome silver fox she had ever met and all she could think about was how it would feel to bury her hands in his hair or slide them down his chest as his talented fingers discovered her body. She imagined how the scent of his cologne would smell mingled with that of sex and sweat.  
Her phone woke her from her daydream and Clara looked at the screen to see that it was Danny – again. Annoyed with the disturbance she answered her phone.  
“Yes?”  
“Hey Clara,” he paused, his voice careful, “Me and the others were wondering whether you still want to come to the pub.”  
“I've got plans,” she said, “Sorry. I totally forget about that.”  
Clara wasn't keen on telling Danny about where exactly she was going. They had been separated for two months but from time to time Clara still got the impression that he was not over it yet. She didn't want to push it.   
“Oh,” Danny sounded disappointed, “Okay. I guess I’ll see you on Monday.”  
“See you,” Clara replied quickly before she hung up on him and turned her attention back to her wardrobe.   
She ended up picking a dark skirt and tights and a simple blouse that showed enough cleavage to be considered sexy. Brushing her hair neatly and applying a little make up and perfume she was soon ready to go back out.

The Doctor had been right. His house was easily found, literally squeezed between two other, larger houses which made it stand out, giving it a slightly different, artistic look despite the fact that they were all made out of the same red bricks and white framed windows. Nervously Clara walked up the steps to the front door. She could still turn around and leave, tell him next Friday that she hadn’t found it or that something had come up. It would probably be the wiser decision not to sleep with her art teacher on the first day of class. Yet Clara had always been the one to take risks and she had only regretted it on a very few occasions. She rang the doorbell.

For a while nothing at all happened and Clara was beginning to believe that she might have arrived at the wrong time or the wrong house but eventually the door opened and the Doctor, slightly out of breath and dressed in a ridiculous hoodie and plaid trousers smiled at her.  
“I’m sorry,” he apologized quickly, “I was upstairs in my studio. Didn’t realize it was 8 already.”  
At first she didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t quite prepared for this sort of hello and her mind was still trying to process how that man could look attractive even in an outfit like that.   
“Why don’t you come in?” the Doctor asked and opened the door wider for Clara to step inside.   
The corridor was dark and scarcely furnished with a spiral staircase leading up at the end of it.  
“I hardly use the rooms downstairs except for when I have to. I’m usually in my studio upstairs. Come on,” he said and gestured for her to follow him as he made his way upstairs, passing another floor that seemed to be unimportant to him and Clara had to force herself to look down at her feet and not at what was right in front of her.

His studio consisted of one big room. Dark, wooden floor, the red brick walls similar to those of the outside of the house. The wall to her right however was mainly glass, probably meant to let in as much daylight as possible when the sun was up but right now all she could see was her own reflection and the distant lights of the city. Clara noticed that this room probably served more than just one purpose or that the Doctor really spent most of his time in here. She spotted a large sofa, bookshelves, a stereo system, a corner that could be called a small kitchen and of course many easels and painting supplies. Also there were paintings everywhere. On the walls, propped up against the shelves, piling up on the floor. Simply everywhere.  
“Would you like something to drink?” the Doctor asked, fiddling with the coffee maker.  
“Well, if you’re gonna make coffee, I’ll have a cup,” Clara replied and turned her attention back to the paintings.   
On the wall behind the sofa Clara saw a large painting, probably the largest of them all and she stepped closer to admire it. In the centre of it stood a woman with long, red hair. Clara couldn’t be sure but she suspected it was the same young woman she had seen on the painting in their classroom. In this one she had her back to the viewer, a sheet wrapped loosely around her otherwise naked body as she stood in the middle of a late summer barley field in front of a sunset. Clara knew instinctively that whoever she was she must have meant something to the Doctor. This painting, as well as that in the classroom were different from the others that depicted landscape or architecture or abstracts. It was as if he had embedded his love for her into this picture with every single stroke.   
“Do you like it?” the Doctor asked and held a cup with steaming, hot coffee into her direction.  
Clara took it from him with a thank you before she turned back towards the painting. “It’s beautiful.”  
She suddenly became aware that he was very close to her but before she could react and do something to get just a little closer the Doctor moved away and sat down on a small stool behind one of the easels. He pointed towards the sofa.  
“Why don’t you sit down?” he asked, putting his coffee down at his feet and reaching for a sketchbook and pencil. 

A little confused Clara did as he asked and took a place at the edge of the sofa. With a remote the Doctor switched on several more lights and Clara squeezed her eyes shut at the sudden brightness.   
“Sorry,” he apologized, “Daylight lamps.”  
“You really want to paint me?” she found herself asking. By the way he had complimented her and smiled at her earlier she had thought this would lead elsewhere and now she was trying very hard not to sound disappointed.   
“Well, I’d like to start with a few sketches, actually,” he explained, “I need to see you. _Properly_ see you. That takes time. And I’m assuming you’ll need that to get comfortable. You’re sitting there as stiff as a broom.”  
Immediately Clara adjusted her position.  
“It’s okay,” the Doctor reassured her, “You’ll get used to it. Why don’t you tell me something about yourself? What do you do when you’re not trying to learn how to draw and paint?”  
“I, erm,” she paused when he started drawing, “Do I have to sit completely still?”  
The Doctor chuckled. “No, you can move. Just keep looking in my direction.”  
That was easier said than done. Every time their eyes met Clara could feel the heat rise to her cheeks and she was so sure the Doctor could read her inappropriate thoughts from her mind. If he could the Doctor didn’t show it.  
“I’m a teacher,” Clara finally said, “I teach English at Coal Hill. It’s pretty boring actually,” she gave a nervous laugh and took a sip from her coffee.  
“Teaching isn’t boring. I teach. I like it.”  
“Yeah, but you teach art.”  
The Doctor shrugged, his eyes wandering back and forth from the drawing in his hands and Clara in front of him. “Art. Literature. Same thing. It’s just a way to express our thoughts, our dreams, loves, fears. It comes from one and the same source. We see beauty and we want to catch it, trap it, make it immortal because we know that it won’t last.”  
“Yeah,” Clara found herself agreeing, “I suppose you’re right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the first comments on this story. I hope you will continue to enjoy it :)


	3. Chapter 3

Clara woke up with a stiff, hurting neck and she tried to stretch only to realize that her feet were pushing against an obstacle. Opening her eyes she needed a moment to remember where she was and then it all came back to her.  
She and the Doctor had talked for hours the night before, about art, about literature, the up- and downsides of teaching and he had sketched her from all possible angles and when Clara looked down to the floor now she saw the drawings scattered everywhere. At some point last night she had started yawning and the Doctor had suggested she should lie down. Clara guessed that she simply must have fallen asleep. 

“Good morning,” the Doctor’s gravelly voice startled her and Clara sat up, throwing the blanket aside and turned around to find a surprise even bigger.   
She had intended to say something back but her mouth fell open when he stood there wearing nothing but pyjama bottoms. Clara’s sleepy mind was unable to form any kind of coherent sentence as she gawked at him, his lean figure with the tiniest hint of muscle. She knew that she was hopelessly screwed because all she could think about was how badly she wanted to touch him. The Doctor was attractive and intelligent and funny and nothing was going even remotely the way she had expected it to. She felt somewhere in between confused and furious.   
“Would you like some coffee?” he roused her from her thoughts.  
“Yeah,” she replied, still somewhat baffled, “Yeah, sure.”  
The small coffee maker came to life with a buzzing sound and a few moments later she was handed a large mug of coffee.  
“Thanks,” she mumbled, trying no to stare at him as the Doctor attempted to sit on the couch next to her, “Erm, could you maybe put some clothes on?”  
“Oh,” he uttered, “Sure. Sorry, I was so into my morning routine I didn’t even realize.”

The Doctor walked over to one of the book shelves and retrieved a crinkled shirt that had more than just a few paint sprinkles on it and proceeded to put it on before he walked back and sat on the sofa. Clara instantly felt better, even though how it could be that he was the one half naked and she the one feeling vulnerable Clara couldn’t tell. She also wasn't sure whether the Doctor really was that scattered or if all of this, the drawings, the compliments, the showing up half naked, the conversations were all part of a plan to get to where she had been willing to go five minutes after they had met.   
“I hope you slept well. This couch isn’t exactly the softest,” the Doctor said before he sipped his coffee, "I speak from experience."  
“It was okay,” she replied simply.   
“I’m afraid I can’t offer you any breakfast but if you like we could go to a café and eat something. There’s a nice one not far from here,” he suggested after a moment.  
“Oh, that’s okay,” Clara said although she was nearly starving, “I can eat when I get home.”  
“It would be my treat,” he smiled at her in a way that made her knees grow weak, “Or do you have somewhere to be?”  
He seemed happy to take her to a café, maybe even eager and Clara figured that the markings waiting for her at home could just as well wait a little longer.   
"No, not really," she found herself smiling back, "Let's go get breakfast then."  
"Excellent," the Doctor beamed at her, "I'll just finish my coffee and grab my car keys."  
"Uhm," Clara hesitated, raising her eyebrows at him.  
The Doctor looked at her in confusion. "What is it?"  
"You wanna go out in pyjamas?"  
He laughed. "Sorry, of course not. Though it wouldn't be the first time that happened."  
Clara started to giggle. Only too well she could imagine the Doctor being so scattered that he actually went to the grocery shop wearing a dirty shirt and pyjama bottoms.

They finished their coffee and the Doctor told Clara to wait downstairs while he was changing into normal clothes but he took quite long and Clara was growing curious. The only things she had seen were his studio and the bathroom on the floor below that so she opened the door that led away from the corridor and peeked inside. Clara found a small, slightly messy looking living room and again there were pictures and art supplies everywhere. She stepped through into the kitchen and realized that the walls of this room were lined with paintings as well. Again she spotted the same red haired woman in one of them though this seemed a little more surreal than the others, in colour as in the technique it was painted in. The rest of the kitchen however was just as messy as the living room had been. Clean dishes were piling up on the counters as if to dry, yet they looked like they had been there just like that for days while the sink was filled with dirty coffee mugs and brushes. It was right then that Clara determined the Doctor was definitely single. No girlfriend or wife would allow this place to be in such a state.   
"Gone exploring?"  
Clara shot around to find the Doctor, now dressed in a dark pair of trousers and a holey jumper, standing in the doorway. He wore a strange kind of smile on his face that Clara couldn't quite place. Was he mad? Intrigued? Amused?  
"Sorry," she apologized quickly, realizing that she had probably overstepped a boundary, "I was just curious. Your place looks nice."  
His smile deepened. "Liar."  
"Maybe your way of arranging things isn't exactly my style."  
All of a sudden the Doctor burst into laughter and it confused her for a moment. "Clara, it's alright, you can say it. I know I'm a slob. Always have been."  
The painting next to the door caught her attention again and since the Doctor hadn't been mad about her snooping around his place Clara thought she might as well ask.   
"Who is she?" Clara asked, pointing at the red haired woman, "I've seen her in the painting in the classroom and I think in your studio, too."  
As the Doctor turned to look at it his smile faded from his face and he took on a sombre expression. He hesitated a moment before he replied.   
"Amelia," he said simply, "Her name is Amelia."  
Before Clara could ask about her further the Doctor put on a smile again.  
"So, ready to get breakfast?" he asked.  
Clara nodded.

The Doctor grabbed a sketchbook and pencils and was about to reach for his coat when he turned back around to Clara.  
"It's colder than yesterday. Don't you want a warmer jacket?"  
"Oh, I'll be fine in the car," Clara replied.  
"There's no parking in front of the café, we'll have to walk a bit," he explained as he reached for a dark blue coat with red lining and handed it to her, "Here, you can borrow this."  
"Thanks," Clara muttered as she watched him take a red velvet coat from the rack. She put on the one he had given to her and couldn't help but notice that his smell clung to it and wearing his coat, even though on her it was totally oversized, felt sort of nice and intimate.   
As they got into his car and the Doctor handed her his sketchbook to hold Clara couldn't help but think about her situation. Even though she felt utterly comfortable in his company a part of it still seemed weird. She had only met him the day before, spent the night at his place without anything happening except for conversations and countless sketches. Then there was the fact that Clara was terribly attracted to him and even though the Doctor had told her how beautiful she was multiple times she somehow thought that he hadn't really taken notice of her at all.   
As he had sketched her the previous night Clara had told him a lot about herself, about her job, her family, her friends and her motivations to take up painting and he had listened and commented and told her stories and all of it without ever really revealing anything about himself. He knew almost everything about her and she was still sitting next to an enigma.  
To take her mind off the subject of the Doctor while they were driving she opened his sketchbook to look at last night's work.  
"You made me far too pretty," Clara laughed after she had browsed through the first pages.  
"No I haven't," he replied, his eyes fixed on the road, "That's exactly what you look like to me."  
Not knowing what to say Clara turned the page and found a drawing of herself that she couldn't remember posing for. She was lying on the sofa, covered with a blanket that she also didn't recall being there when she had drifted off. Her hands were tucked under her face and her eyes were closed. This one was darker than the rest of them so Clara assumed he had switched off the daylight lamps after she had fallen asleep.   
"You sketched me while I was sleeping?" she asked him in amusement.   
The Doctor laughed. "I hope you don't think that's creepy. I liked your pose and you looked really peaceful."  
"It's only slightly creepy," Clara replied, smiling.   
The Doctor was driving, which meant he was distracted. Clara thought this was the perfect opportunity for her to ask a question that had been on her mind since the previous day.  
"Doctor," she began carefully, "Why did you invite me to your place? Why did you want to paint, or draw me?"  
He didn't answer her for quite some time and Clara started suspecting he either hadn't heard her question or was deliberately ignoring it. But finally he spoke.  
"I'm an artist, Clara," he began.  
"I kinda figured that."   
“I can paint all the time. Sometimes I have phases where I don't but they're rare. However my work is best when I have a muse to inspire me. You know, while you slept I didn't just sketch you, I also finished one other painting that I had been working on for quite a while,” he explained.   
“Is that what I am to you?” Clara asked, confused and unsure what the term even implied, “A muse?”  
The Doctor turned to face her for a moment, a shy laugh escaping his throat. “If you wanna be.”  
“Why me?”  
He stared back onto the road. “I never know why. I only know who.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the reviews :) Let's see how it continues, shall we?


	4. Chapter 4

The walk to the café took them about 15 minutes and Clara became more and more grateful for the warm coat with every step and when they finally arrived the Doctor chose a spot by the window in a remote corner of the café, far away from the other customers. After ordering coffee and pancakes the Doctor opened his sketchbook and immediately started scribbling away on one of the pages.  
“You're drawing me again?” Clara asked, slightly amused.  
“If you don't mind,” he looked up, that smile on his face again that made her so weak, “The light in here is perfect.”  
“Was Amelia your muse, too?”  
His pencil immediately stopped but this time the Doctor didn't look at her. Once more he hesitated before he spoke to her.  
“Yes.”  
Clara knew she should stop there, she could feel that he didn't want to talk about her, she had felt it earlier when she had asked about her name but after telling him basically her entire life story Clara somehow felt like he owed her at least a bit.  
“What happened to her?” Clara asked, trying to sound casual.  
Finally the Doctor looked up but the expression on his face was not the one she had expected. He didn't seem sad now, he seemed mad.  
“Can we not talk about Amelia?” the Doctor spat angrily, his voice sharp all of a sudden but then he took a deep breath and his features softened again, “I'm sorry. Amelia is well, if you must know. She's married. Last thing I've heard was that they were trying to adopt.”  
She wanted to know so much more now, wanted to know how they had met and what had happened that Amelia wasn't his muse any longer but Clara decided to drop the matter. It definitely was a touchy subject for him.  
“I'm sorry,” she apologized quietly, “I was just curious. I won't ask any more. Just, the things you painted of her are really lovely. I like them.”  
“It's okay. I can't blame you for being curious,” he paused, “Nothing bad happened between me and Amelia if that's what you're worried about. She got married and she decided that in her life there wasn't enough room for both her marriage and our friendship. She still comes to see my paintings at the gallery when there's an event.”  
Clara raised an eyebrow but before she could ask her next question the waiter arrived with their coffee and breakfast. The Doctor placed his sketchbook aside and replaced the pencil with a fork and knife. Clara took a huge sip from her coffee.  
“So, when you say _muse_ you actually mean _friend_ , right?”  
Finally the smile was back on the Doctor's face and Clara was glad to see it. A moment ago when he had talked about Amelia he had looked downright miserable and the smile suited him so much better.  
“You could say that, yes,” he agreed, “I've had some great friendships with my muses. I like company when I paint and I like having someone to paint. Speaking of which, what are you doing tonight?”  
“Oh, uhm,” Clara hesitated, “I've actually got some markings to do.”  
“Oh,” he muttered and looked down at his food.  
Seeing him so disappointed Clara suddenly started to feel bad. She actually wanted to spend time with him, she wanted to get closer to him although by now she had realized that it would take more than just one day. It was just that all of it was very unusual and Clara felt like the Doctor was so far out of her control that she couldn't predict a thing about him. It confused and excited her at the same time. But then again, she had started his class because she had been looking for a challenge.  
“But,” she paused, “I could come back to your place _after_ I've finished my markings.”  
The Doctor's eyes lit up. “Or you could do them at my place. I wouldn't mind. Just you being there helps my inspiration.”  
“Good,” Clara smiled back at him, “We'll do that:”

 

* * *

 

Only when she was already halfway at her apartment Clara realized that she was still wearing the Doctor's coat. She smiled when she did and once again inhaled his scent from its collar. The Doctor. _The Doctor_. That man was simply a mystery to her and somehow Clara couldn't wait to unravel it and yet there was this tiny alarm bell ringing inside her head. The one that said Clara had only met him yesterday and here she was, practically spending the weekend with him – because Clara was very certain that was what would happen. She would definitely not only bring her school work but also a toothbrush because somehow she knew that this night would end up being like the night before and this time Clara would be prepared. She wasn't even sure why she was doing it. Of course, at some point Clara hoped to seduce him as she was still so very much attracted to him but that wasn't the only reason. Somehow the Doctor made her feel special. He had picked her out of a group that was filled with pretty women, he had probably picked her out of the whole population of London because Clara was sure he wouldn't shy away from speaking to a random person on the street. But the Doctor had chosen her to be his muse. She wasn't going to pass up that opportunity whatever was going to happen next.  
However when Clara arrived at home there was an unpleasant surprise waiting for her on her doorstep.  
“Danny,” she tried not to sound too annoyed at the sight of him, “What are you doing here?”  
He beamed at her excitedly. “I was about to go for a run and thought you might want to join me. I wanted to ring the bell but then I saw you down the street.”  
“I can't. I've got plans,” Clara told him as she stuck the keys into the keyhole.  
“You always have plans,” Danny complained, sounding a little sour, “I thought we agreed that we wanted to stay friends.”  
“We _are_ friends, Danny but that doesn't mean you're my _only_ friend. I really don't have time this weekend. Let's do something after school next week, okay?” she asked him as she opened the door even though she wasn't really keen on actually doing something with him. Hanging out with Danny with a group of people was alright but one on one still felt too much like a date and Clara had no intentions of picking up that habit again.  
“Clara,” he started but suddenly his sentence stopped. His eyes wandered from her head to her toes and back up, “Whose coat is that?”  
She frowned at him. “That really is nothing of your concern anymore, Danny.”  
In defeat Danny sighed. “I know. I know. Sorry.”  
“It's nothing,” Clara didn't know why she had the urge to make him feel better, “It's just for painting class. A sort of project.”  
“I didn't realize this was an all-weekend thing.”  
“It's not,” she said, “This is just extra and it's fun. I don't want to pass up this opportunity. I'm sorry, Danny. I promise we'll do something next week. Okay?”  
She looked at him hopefully and finally Danny crooked a smile. “Okay,” he agreed, “Go and hang out with artists. Just don't become a snob, okay?”  
Clara started laughing, her thoughts wandering back to the Doctor and his messy bachelor pad. “I won't become a snob. I seriously won't. I'll see you on Monday.”  
“See you,” Danny said right before Clara closed the door between the two of them. Just how she had managed to be his girlfriend for six whole months was beyond Clara. Especially now, after meeting the Doctor Clara was more and more sure that if she ever decided to be in a relationship again the one thing her boyfriend shouldn't be was ordinary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your sweet comments :)


	5. Chapter 5

The Doctor greeted her with a smile as he opened the door, immediately inviting her iside.  
“Did you bring your homework?” the Doctor asked as he headed for the stairs.  
“Yep,” Clara replied happily, “I also brought your coat back.”  
Clara held it up for a moment to show him before she placed it on the coat rack next to the velvety one he had worn earlier and added her own coat a few seconds later before she followed the Doctor upstairs to his studio.  
It was strange how she had stepped inside this house only 24 hours ago and yet it already felt so familiar, so close to comfortable that it could almost be considered homely. Once inside his studio Clara let herself fall down on the sofa and immediately retrieved her paperwork and pen from her bag as she heard the little coffee maker buzz in the background.  
A short while later the Doctor handed her a mug and Clara laughed.  
“This is my third cup already,” she commented, “At this rate I'll be nervous and jittery when I should actually start thinking about sleep.”  
“It's my seventh cup,” the Doctor replied with a smirk and took a sip before he pulled back, obviously because it was still too hot to drink, “And probably won't be the last.”  
Clara eyed him with curiosity. “You drink an awful lot of coffee, don't you?”  
The Doctor cocked an eyebrow. “You ask an awful lot of questions.”  
“Well,” she replied, “It's either getting to know each other or sit here in silence with the only sound being your pencil on the paper. I prefer the first option.”  
“Right,” he took a deep breath and set down the mug next to his stool, “I don't sleep much when I'm on a roll. I just want to paint. And then paint some more. Hence the coffee. As for the silence there's always music.”  
The Doctor pointed at the stereo system.  
“Or audio books. I listen to a lot of audio books, too. When I don't have company.”  
“Which you do.”  
The Doctor smiled. “Which I do,” he repeated.

While the Doctor started reaching for his painting supplies Clara lay down flat on her stomach, her students' essays in front of her. A few minutes passed before she started laughing.  
“What's so funny?” the Doctor asked her, looking at her over the rim of his canvas.  
“Courtney Woods.”  
He arched an eyebrow. “And that is?”  
“One of my students. Terrible girl,” Clara explained, “She wrote here 'In the end it was probably for the best that Romeo and Juliet both ended up dead because honestly, can you imagine living with someone who talks like this the entire time? I'd have topped myself after the first meeting.'”  
Clara laughed but when she turned towards the Doctor to see his reaction he didn't seem amused at all.  
“That is not a laughing matter,” he said strictly, “Maybe you should have a word with that girl.”  
“Oh, she's fine,” Clara reassured him, “She's just being an obnoxious brat like always.”  
The Doctor shrugged, his attention now back on the painting in front of him.  
“Or maybe it's her way of crying out for help. You never know what's really going on inside someone's head.”  
Something about the way he said it made Clara reconsider her initial opinion. She picked up her pen and wrote 'please see me after class' on the margin, thinking that at least she could ask Courtney if everything was okay. How it would go on after that was entirely up to her.  
After the tenth essay Clara was starting to grow tired of the silence that had spread ever since she had shared that quote with the Doctor and she asked him to put on some music. He complied and a few moments later Clara recognized the first notes of a popular Bob Dylan song and she decided to use it to break the ice once more.  
“I like that,” she said, “Bob Dylan, that is. What's that song called again?”  
She knew but she still wanted the Doctor to talk to her.  
“ _Shelter from the storm_ ,” he replied, never looking up from his canvas.  
Pushing her work aside Clara watched him for a moment, watched as his eyes flew over the painting, his hand switching brushes and colours seemingly at random though she was sure that he knew exactly what he was doing. The Doctor seemed absolutely lost in his work but the look on his face betrayed that there was something else going on inside his mind apart from the art. The entire time he remained oblivious to how intently she was watching him.  
In an attempt to stretch her legs Clara pushed herself up and got up from the sofa. The Doctor didn't seem to pay any attention to her and when Clara looked in his direction he noticed that his coffee mug was empty. Without saying a word she grabbed it and walked over to the coffee maker to refill it before she handed it back to the Doctor.  
“Thank you,” he granted her a weak smile before he turned back to his painting.  
“You look tired,” Clara said without thinking. Gently she placed a hand on his shoulder and he twitched at the sudden contact.  
The Doctor turned around, looking straight at her with those piercing grey eyes that somehow made Clara feel small and insecure at this moment.  
“What about you?” he asked, “Finished your markings?”  
“Not yet,” she replied, carefully pulling her hand away from his shoulder again, “I need a break.”  
“Would you like to take a bath? I have a large tub in the downstairs bathroom that's hardly ever being used.”  
“If you don't mind?” Clara asked back. It somehow felt weird to just take a long bubble bath at someone else's house but then again, what about her being here was actually normal for her standards?  
“Absolutely not,” the Doctor smiled at her, “Like I said. Hardly ever use it. It's just through the kitchen.”  
“Okay,” Clara finally said, “See you in a bit then.”  
“Take as long as you like.”  
“I will,” she said when she was already halfway out of the door.

The prospects of a bath really appealed to her since all Clara had in her own flat was a small shower and when she stepped through the kitchen Clara noticed to her surprise that the clean dished had gone, the sink was empty and the surface seemed like it had recently been wiped. Apparently the Doctor was trying to make an effort for her.  
When she stepped inside the bathroom and switched on the light Clara found yet another surprise. The room was large and above all beautiful. The Doctor hadn't lied about the tub, it really was big but that wasn't what caught her attention. In awe she stared up at the ceiling of the room. The bathroom tiles only reached up to her shoulders, the rest of the walls and ceiling however were painted in a dark blue with tiny white dots all over. Clara was staring up at the night sky with the main lamp resembling the sun, a less bright one for the moon and countless little lamps as the brightest stars. When she switched off the “sun” Clara really got the impression she was standing outdoors, somewhere in the countryside where the stars could still be seen this bright.  
While the hot water was slowly filling the tub Clara looked further around but found little more, just the essentials that could just as well be found in every hotel bathroom. Towels, a simple robe, toilet paper and a few bath supplements. No comb, no brush, no razor or deodorant. The Doctor didn't just _hardly ever use_ this room, he never used it at all.  
She couldn't help but wonder why as she stepped into the hot water and let the bubbles engulf her. Then it slowly began to dawn on Clara. The rest of the house seemed to suit the Doctor up to the last dirty coffee mug. The living room, the kitchen, his studio, even the other bathroom all had the looks of a bachelor pad but this here was different. This room was too romantic to have been meant for a man in the first place so Clara assumed he had either made it look like this for a girlfriend, wife or one of his muses that had spent a great amount of time here. 

Clara couldn't tell how long she actually remained in the tub but when she heard noises coming from the kitchen she decided it was about time to get out. Quickly drying herself off with one of the towels and slipping into the bathrobe Clara went to see where the noises had come from and found the Doctor looking through the kitchen cupboards. He glanced up when he noticed her, seemingly confused.  
“I, erm,” he spluttered, “I'm afraid I forgot to go grocery shopping again.”  
Clara crossed her arms in front of her chest and raised an eyebrow at the empty cupboards. “For how long have you been forgetting?”  
“I don't really know, to be honest,” the Doctor opened the fridge only to realize that it was very much empty as well, “I used to have a housekeeper who did this for me. I don't know where she went. Haven't seen her for weeks.”  
He frowned as if trying to remember when he had last heard of his lost housekeeper and what might have happened to not make her return to work.  
“What have you eaten the past few weeks then?” Clara found herself asking. She wasn't quite sure whether she should find his absentmindedness amusing or slightly worrisome.  
“I usually eat elsewhere. Or take-out. And then there's the delivery service,” he said and turned around to look at her, appearing a little lost, “I can't really cook.”  
At this point Clara couldn't help but burst into laughter. “Are you even allowed to live on your own?”  
“Like I said, I had a housekeeper. I have to ask Missy what happened to her.”  
Clara shook her head. “I'll get dressed. We'll go grocery shopping.”  
“But the painting isn't done,” the Doctor objected.  
“The painting can wait,” Clara replied sternly as she headed to the bathroom, “You need food and I'm starting to get hungry, too, so grab your coat!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your comments. Glad you're enjoying it so far :-)


	6. Chapter 6

“So, what do you like?” Clara asked as they were standing in the middle of a Sainsbury's shop on Cromwell Road a short while later. The Doctor was grumpy about having been dragged away from his unfinished painting but eventually he had given in after Clara had insisted on a meal they could cook together.  
“I'm not picky. I'll just buy what I need,” he replied, looking around the shop as if he hadn't set foot in a supermarket in ages.  
“In your case that's everything,” Clara giggled and pushed the cart ahead.  
The Doctor followed her reluctantly but stopped when the phone in his pocket rang. She turned around to see him answer it and waited as he talked to whoever was on the other end. It took him a while so Clara diverted her attention to the rack next to her with wine on sale.  
“Clara,” his voice tore her from her thoughts.  
“Yes?”  
“What are you doing next Saturday?” he asked her, holding his phone lower.  
She shrugged. “Nothing in particular, why?”  
“There's the grand reopening at the gallery. Would you like to go? Missy is displaying some of my paintings.”  
That was the second time the Doctor had mentioned that particular name without explaining who it was but now Clara figured that she was somehow connected to selling his art. And the idea of attending a gallery event with him sounded actually kind of nice.  
“Yes, sure. That sounds like fun,” Clara agreed.  
The Doctor placed his phone back against his ear.  
“Yeah, we'll be there,” he said into the phone, “I. . . I do not. . . I don't dress in rags,” he groaned, “Yes, _yes_ , I will. Bye.”  
The Doctor slid the phone back into the pocket of his jacket and came to a halt next to Clara.  
“So, this Missy,” Clara started, “She's your. . . what, exactly?”  
He took a deep breath and his face once again became unreadable to her.  
“Missy and I go way back,” he said eventually, “She's a friend now. Basically my only friend. And she displays and sells my art. Makes a fortune off me, so she's happy.”  
Clara cocked an eyebrow at him. “She's also an ex, am I right?”  
For a moment she thought she had gone too far again, like earlier when she had asked about Amelia but to her surprise the Doctor smiled in reply.  
“Yeah, she's an ex. But that was a long time ago. She dumped me. I can't actually remember what for.”  
_I think I have an idea what for_ , Clara thought but figured it would be better to keep this to herself as she pushed the cart further ahead. The fact that he couldn't even remember why his ex had broken up with him spoke volumes about what their relationship must have been like.

Under his protests Clara dragged the Doctor through every single aisle, filling the cart with the essentials and a few things he pointed out that he liked if she managed to coax that much information out of him. They spent a long time in front of the shelf filled with energy drinks and once Clara had explained to the Doctor what they were he was keen to try them.  
“You need proper sleep,” Clara scolded him, “Not more caffeine in your bloodstream.”  
“I'm an artist. Art never sleeps,” the Doctor complained and turned towards her, “Enough about me. Let's buy something _you_ like.”

It took them an hour and a half to fill the cart and pay before they finally headed back to his house and were able to start making dinner. Clara was nearly starving by that time and impatiently prepared their meal while the Doctor was already looking forward to get back to his painting. It seemed as if to him things like food or sleep were simply distractions from what really mattered: his art.  
“Have you made a decision yet?” the Doctor asked over dinner. Clara had set the table in the kitchen before he even had the chance to protest although she knew that he would have rather eaten upstairs in his studio.  
She raised her eyebrow. “About what?”  
A shy smile appeared on his face, the kind that Clara thought she couldn't really resist. “About whether you want to be my muse or not. Whether you want to stick around.”  
“I didn't realize you wanted a definite answer to that question.”  
The Doctor hesitated for a moment, poking around in his food.  
“When you asked about Amelia,” he said eventually, “I got a little defensive. I get very much attached to my muses, friends, whatever you want to call it because to you it probably seems like the same thing. So if you don't really want to spend more time with me I'd like to know.”  
“I want to,” Clara said immediately because it was the truth, “The last 24 hours have been utterly strange but in a good way. I'd like to stick around.”  
He looked up and now smiled at her sincerely.  
“ _But_ I can't be your full time muse,” she insisted, “I have a job, I have friends, my family. It can't always be like today.”  
“That's okay,” the Doctor said immediately, “That's important.”  
He suddenly jumped up from his seat and went to the kitchen counters to retrieve something from a drawer. A few seconds later he held a key in her face.  
“What is that?” she wanted to know.  
“It's the key to my house. Go on. Take it.”  
“You're giving me a key to your house?” Clara asked, completely baffled. She was practically still a stranger to him and he shouldn't trust her with something as important as this. She hadn't even trusted Danny with a key to her apartment and they had been dating for six months.  
“I want you around,” the Doctor said simply, “You said that you have your job and friends. This is my way of saying that you're always welcome to stop by any time. And also I don't always hear the doorbell when I'm upstairs.”  
“I probably won't come back here until after the painting class on Friday,” she objected. Still he didn't lower the key.  
“Please, just take it,” he said gently.  
With a sigh Clara reached out and finally took the key from him, vowing not to use it unless it was an emergency. She wanted to be around. She wanted to be close to the Doctor. But she didn't want to move in with him, not as his muse, not after just a day.

After they had both finished dinner the Doctor and Clara went back upstairs. Clara to her markings and the Doctor to finishing his painting before he resumed sketching her. They listened to music, they talked and when Clara started to grow tired the Doctor offered her the guest bedroom next to his own and she thankfully accepted. When or if the Doctor went to sleep Clara didn't know.

 

* * *

 

Returning to work on Monday felt strange, to say the least. Spending the entire weekend with the Doctor had been like a holiday, like an exotic vacation to another land and being back in school among her unruly students and her boring colleagues reminded her again of how dull her life actually was.  
She talked to Courtney Woods, asked her if she was alright, if she was having problems at school or at home with her parents. The girl denied it all, like Clara had suspected she would but at least she had tried and it was another thing crossed off her mental list.  
Clara had also agreed to go to the cinema with Danny on Wednesday and she had picked the latest James Bond film, something with a lot of action so Danny wouldn't even get any ideas. Yet somehow he had managed to turn a simple visit to the cinema into an all day event.  
He caught her after school and Clara had no excuse ready and so she got dragged off to a café. Moodily she sat in front of her coffee and chips.  
“You missed quite a lot of fun on Friday,” Danny told her with a broad grin.  
“Oh?” Clara asked and took a sip from her coffee.  
“Yeah, you know, karaoke night. Lisa and Frank,” his grin only widened.  
“What about Lisa and Frank?” she asked in an attempt to show interest when really the way he looked at her was beginning to unsettle her. Danny didn't take his eyes off her for a moment. He shouldn't be allowed to do that. They weren't an item anymore. She was starting to think that going out with just Danny had been a stupid idea.  
“Lisa and Frank got drunk again, only this time it didn't end in just a chaste kiss. Catherine caught them snogging in front of the pub when she went out for a smoke.”  
Danny laughed. Apparently he found what had happened to be greatly amusing. The story of Lisa and Frank sounded a lot like the story of Clara and Danny. With them it had started out exactly the same way and Clara was beginning to rue the day.  
“Listen,” she said, clearing her throat, “Since we're here already we could basically catch the earlier screening of the film. Don't you think?”  
She forced a smile and Danny looked quite disappointed at her suggestion. But luckily for her he agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your lovely comments :) They always make my day!!!


	7. Chapter 7

The downside of choosing the earlier screening was that the cinema was basically empty and Danny had secured them seats in the last row with only a couple of other people sitting a few rows in front of them. A list of all the places she would rather be was starting to play through her mind.  
“Are you sure you don't want popcorn or anything?” he asked when the movie trailers started, “Last chance to grab a snack.”  
“No, I'm good,” Clara replied. Her thoughts wandered to the Doctor for a moment and she started to wonder whether he had remembered to eat today. He certainly had. His cupboards were thoroughly stocked now and it would be no effort for him at all to prepare something to eat. Right now he was probably in his studio, busy with another new painting. She had seen the one he had started on Sunday, a piece of landscape that he had explained was near where he had grown up in Scotland. Clara had asked about his youth but gotten no reply.  
“Clara, can I ask you something?” Danny's voice tore her from her thoughts. She shouldn't be thinking about the Doctor anyway. He would be fine.  
“Sure, what is it?” Clara turned to look at him. Oh no, she could see where this would lead already.  
“Have you been seeing anyone since we separated?”  
There it was. That question that would ultimately lead to him asking for another try. Clara had known this would happen. Suddenly she could feel his hand on her knee, reluctant and shy, testing the grounds.  
“Because in the past two months I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. I know you broke up. But I want you to know that if you change your mind about that I'm still here.”  
“Danny, I-” she stopped, considering, “I think I'm sort of seeing someone.”  
“Sort of?” he raised an eyebrow, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”  
Clara took a deep breath. She couldn't tell him the truth, not Danny. He would never understand what had been going on the past few days, hell, even Clara didn't really understand it herself.  
“It's complicated,” Clara said, “I've only just met him. In painting class. He's nice and I'm not uninterested. But even if it wasn't for him, Danny, I wouldn't. My reasons are still the same and I stand by what I said. I'm sorry.”  
Quickly he withdrew his hand.  
“But if you still have feelings for me we can't do this sort of thing, hang out as friends. It's not going to do us any good. I'll always be wondering if you don't have an ulterior motive and God knows how long you'll be hoping for there to still be something between us.”  
Danny nodded gravely.  
“I know,” he replied sadly, “I just didn't want to give up without at least trying. You're a wonderful woman. You can't blame me for hoping.”  
She granted him a smile. “And you're sweet, Danny, you deserve a nice girl but I'm not a nice girl. I should probably go.”  
“What about the film?” Danny asked, “Didn't you want to watch it?”  
Clara shook her head. “I think it's better if I leave. I'll see you in school.”

She grabbed her jacket and her bag and headed outside where it was already dark. Standing in Covent Garden Clara was faced with exactly two options. It would take her about half an hour to get home. Or half an hour to get to the Doctor's house. Even though she had told him she wouldn't stop by before Friday, even though her common sense told her she probably shouldn't Clara headed off in the direction of the Tube that would take her to him.  
Clara rang the bell and a confused, slightly dazed acting Doctor opened the door after a long wait. It was obvious that he hadn't shaved since she had last seen him, the stubble on his chin had grown into a beard by now.  
“I gave you a key,” he greeted her, frowning slightly.  
She shuffled her feet. “Wasn't sure if you actually wanted me to use it.”  
“Well, of course. That's why I gave it to you.”  
He opened the door a little wider and Clara stepped inside, taking in his appearance as she passed him. In the dim light he looked almost like a ghost.  
“You've been painting, I guess?”  
“Uhm,” he paused, “I think I fell asleep.”  
Clara sighed, picturing him nodding off over his paintings. “You really shouldn't be allowed to live on your own, you know? You don't seem to take proper care of yourself.”  
“Don't worry,” the Doctor smiled at her as if he had registered her presence only now, “Wanna go upstairs? I'd like to show you something.”

He walked ahead, almost running up the stairs now in a sudden burst of energy and Clara had no other choice than to follow him. When they had arrived in his studio the Doctor pointed at the painting currently on the easel in front of his stool and Clara recognized herself immediately. It was a portrait of her, undeniably her, sitting in the café and staring off into the distance. She loved the way he had painted the sun shining through her hair.  
“I painted this from memory. Well, memory and the few sketches I made. It's almost done. Do you like it?”  
He beamed at her though Clara was hardly aware of it. Her eyes were glued to the painting and she could hardly believe he had remembered her in such detail that he could bring her likeness down on canvas like this.  
“I love it,” she said in awe and turned towards him, “Can I keep it when you've finished it?”  
“Of course,” the Doctor smiled happily at her, “It's yours if you want it. It's just the first draft anyway. I have a couple of ideas for how I want to paint you, I just need to practice your eyes until I get them absolutely right.”  
He sat down on his stool and picked his brush back up and Clara remained standing next to him for a moment, admiring his fingers as they worked their magic on the canvas. The Doctor was incredible and Clara wasn't entirely sure if she meant that in a good or a bad way. His art was beautiful and he was definitely a master at what he did. However he didn't seem as though he was quite made for the world they were living in, it was as if he was lost in it somehow and in need of guidance. It wasn't surprising, not with all those paintings living in his head. How could there be any space left for other things?

Clara ended up staying at his place. She fell down on the sofa while he painted, the earlier drowsiness of him completely forgotten by now as he was once again consumed by his art. The Doctor asked about her day and Clara told him about Danny. He agreed with her decision to stay away for a while and even though she tried to throw in a few questions as well most of them remained unanswered except with silence.  
When Clara decided to go to sleep in the guest bedroom the Doctor was still painting, finishing up the picture of her in the café. She knew it probably was no good but still made him promise her to go to sleep as soon as he was done. 

When the alarm on her phone went off Clara groaned. It wasn't even five a.m. and if she decided to go to school in the same clothes as yesterday she could still sleep for another hour. But she knew that the students would notice and talk and Courtney would come up with a story that Danny was bound to hear and she couldn't really use this sort of gossip. A weird thought crossed her mind about leaving some clothes at the Doctor's house and she brushed it aside immediately. No, she wouldn't do that. Not with a man she wasn't sleeping with. Not with a man she hadn't even known a week ago.  
Yawning, Clara pushed herself out of bed. The Doctor would still be sleeping and upon waking up he would probably wonder where she had gone so she searched her bag for a notebook and tore a page out. _Gone to work. Thanks for letting me stay. Clara_ , she scribbled on it.

On quiet toes she sneaked out of her room, leaving her bag by the door and turned the doorknob to the Doctor's bedroom. Clara had intended to just leave the note on his bedside table when she spotted him in the dim light, tossing and turning in his sleep, mumbling something that she couldn't understand. He was shaking violently.  
Without thinking Clara rushed to his side and reached for his hand.  
“Doctor,” she said gently, “Doctor, wake up!”  
He sat up straight all of a sudden, looking around the room in confusion, panting and still shaking a little.  
“It's okay, it was only a nightmare,” Clara told him as calmly as possible.  
He needed a moment to realize where he was but eventually his eyes focused on her and he seemed relieved.  
“Clara?”  
She nodded. “Yes, I'm here. You just had a dream, Doctor. It wasn't real, whatever it was.”  
He reached out, his hands settling on her arms and Clara grew rigid. It was the first time he actually touched her but apparently he needed it as anchor to the real world.  
“What are you doing in here?” he asked, still confused.  
“I have to go to work,” she explained quietly, “I came to leave you a note but then I saw you having a nightmare.”

He let go of her and threw the blanket aside in a swift movement, standing up with a sudden energy that hadn't been there a moment ago. The Doctor rubbed his face in his hands and groaned.  
“Doctor, go back to sleep,” Clara told him, her voice more worried that she thought it would be, “It was just a nightmare, nothing more.”  
“I need to paint,” he replied and reached for the hoodie lying at the end of the bed. Hastily he put it on over his pyjamas.  
“You can't have slept more than three hours.”  
“And _you_ need to get to work. Remember?”

When he stormed out of the room Clara realized something. His muses, or friends, they weren't just necessary to inspire him or to keep him company. The Doctor needed someone around to keep him grounded, to stay in touch with the real world while he was lost in his own. He was a lot more troubled than she would have expected.  
Clara caught him already painting when she went into his studio to say goodbye, not with brushes but with a spatula and she could recognize the outlines of a rose slowly taking shape.  
“I have to go to work,” she said quietly.  
The Doctor turned around and smiled at her, the earlier mood already fading away as it seemed.  
“Okay.”  
“I'll see you on Friday?”  
“Looking forward to it,” he replied softly before he turned back towards his painting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your sweet and lovely comments :)))


	8. Chapter 8

Clara was a bit late to painting class, having taking her time selecting a dress she was going to wear the next day to the gallery but she knew that she would be heading to the Doctor's house afterwards and wasn't sure whether she would find the time to return to her own flat. She was about to rush into the classroom at the same time the Doctor walked around the corner so she stopped and waited for him. He smiled and seemed absolutely happy to see her. Also his beard had finally gone.  
“Hey Clara,” he said enthusiastically, “Ready to get bored with the dry theory of drawing and painting?”  
“I doubt it's gonna be boring,” she smiled back at him as they headed inside. 

It was a little boring as she soon found out but the excitement with which the Doctor talked about it made it seem a little less so. Clara actually learned a lot about materials, painting techniques, different tools and ways to use them. She couldn't wait to actually try some of them out.  
Driving home afterwards in his car the Doctor told her about the earlier classes with his art students and asked about her day, how things were going with Danny and if this student of hers – Courtney Woods – was okay. Clara was a little amazed that he remembered all of this, the man that had forgotten to go grocery shopping for weeks. He seemed to be in a good mood today, eager to get home and tell her about the ideas he had for new paintings. When Clara insisted on dinner first he barely protested at all and she was already looking forward to an easy and relaxing weekend with him. 

 

* * *

 

The gallery owned by Missy was called _The Art Garden of Eden_ and was within walking distance of the Doctor's house. On the way he explained to her that she was celebrating the reopening after having spent months on the renovation of the entire interior.  
“I'm gonna make you look so stupid,” Clara said as they walked around the last corner and she spotted the gallery's name in the distance, “I don't actually know much about art.”  
The Doctor started to laugh. “Art isn't an exact science, you know? Just admire the pictures, make small talk, that's all these events ever really are. I'm curious which ones of my paintings Missy chose to display this time.”  
When Clara stepped inside she was a little overwhelmed by the brightness of the rooms. They were all white, plain white, and the room seemed a jumble with walls in all sorts of places and small sitting areas in front of some of them.  
Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the Doctor drawing his sketchbook out of his pocket.  
She turned around. “Tell me you didn't bring that thing here to sketch me.”  
“What?” he looked up as if she had asked him something completely ridiculous, “You look beautiful in this dress. I want to-”  
Gently she reached for the book in his hands and he froze slightly under her touch. He stared at her for a long moment.  
“But that smile, the way you smile right now. I want to sketch you like this.”  
“Proposition: I'll keep the dress on after we get back to your place and smile for you and you can sketch or paint me after the event. Alright?”  
Finally he let go and Clara took the sketchbook from him and slid it into her purse.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” a sharp, female voice said to her left and Clara turned around to see two women approaching. She didn't have to guess that the one in the tight, black pencil skirt and the attitude of a pure winner was Missy, the owner of the gallery. She sure looked very proud. She was also in the company of a slightly nervous looking woman that Clara thought must be about her own age. She was also very nicely dressed, though in a style that didn't quite appear to be her own and her face was framed by a pair of glasses.  
Missy's attention turned towards Clara and a sneer spread across her face.  
“Ohhhh, you've got a new one, haven't you?”  
Missy turned around and waved towards a waiter distributing glasses of champagne and a few moments later the Doctor and Clara were both handed a glass.  
“Yeah,” the Doctor said, “This is Clara. Clara, this is Missy. I told you about her already.”  
“Don't believe a word he says, dear,” Missy said, giggling, “This man is as observant as a blind sloth.”  
Clara heard the Doctor groan and suddenly her eyes fixed on the other young woman who was standing a little behind Missy and seemed to be utterly fascinated by the Doctor.  
“And who are you?” Clara asked her kindly.  
“Oh,” Missy said, “This is Osgood. My girlfriend. And a huge fan of your work, Doctor.”  
Missy placed her arm around Osgood's waist and led her closer to the group.  
“Girlfriend?” the Doctor asked, baffled, “Since when? I mean, since when are you-”  
“Since your massive cock ruined me for other men, of course,” she replied, rolling her eyes, “Since _always_ , silly, which you would have known a long time ago had you ever paid any attention to me at all.”  
Clara's eyes widened a little and she tried very hard to keep her reaction under control even though she almost choked on her champagne. Missy definitely seemed like the kind of woman who was not to be crossed and Clara now really understood why their relationship had ended. She could imagine only too well how often they must have clashed.  
“Missy, what happened to my housekeeper?” the Doctor asked out of the blue, “I haven't seen her in weeks.”  
“I left you like five messages about that on your phone if you ever bothered to check them.”  
“Well, I'm here now, so tell me.”  
Missy shook her head. “She quit after she found you unconscious on the floor the third week in a row. She said she thought you were dead and got scared and that she's definitely done with you. I left you messages with suggestions for a new one but you never got back to me about that. Now I know why.”  
“Why did she find you unconscious on the floor?” Clara's head turned towards the Doctor and again she was worried about him. Was he sick and didn't tell her?  
“I wasn't unconscious. I was sleeping,” the Doctor told her calmly.  
“And with sleep he means he passed out over his paintings cause his body gave up. You're new, aren't you?” Missy asked.  
Clara was too shocked to say anything at the moment but luckily Missy took advantage of the silence that had spread over the group.  
“Why on earth are you wearing this ridiculous polka dot shirt by the way? I thought I told you to leave the rags at home.”  
“These aren't rags. That's one of my best shirts,” he objected.  
“It used to be. In the 90s,” Missy said and pointed towards a door, “There's a suit in the back room. Go and put that on!”  
After a moment of reluctance the Doctor finally growled but trudged off into the direction of the door. Now Missy's attention was completely devoted to Clara.  
“So, you're the new muse, huh?” she asked, scanning Clara with her eyes, “He's got good taste. He always had.”  
“Is everything alright with him?” Clara found herself asking, “He seems. . .”  
“Scattered? Oblivious? Crazy? Obsessed? Yes, dear, but his art sells. He's really good at what he does and he tends to forget everything else over it. He's always been like this,” she sighed, “He's a nice man, he's sweet, a talented artist but he needs someone to have an eye on him from time to time. I'm glad he's got you. Been too long since his last muse and I was growing a bit tired of being his babysitter.”

When Missy noticed a couple to her right appearing interested in one of the paintings she excused herself, dragging Osgood behind her and leaving Clara standing in the middle of the main room of the gallery. She decided to have a look at the paintings while the Doctor was changing but soon noticed a woman standing in front of one. A woman with long, red hair. Cautiously Clara approached her.  
“Excuse me,” she asked, “Amelia?”  
When the woman turned around there was no denying that she was actually the one in the paintings Clara has seen at his place and in the classroom. She looked just as beautiful in person and soon she smiled at her.  
“He still calls me Amelia, doesn't he?” she extended her hand to Clara. She noticed that Amelia sounded Scottish as well, “I usually go by Amy now. Amy Williams.”  
“I'm Clara Oswald. I've seen you in the Doctor's paintings. They're marvellous. I loved the one in the barley field.”  
An expression of recognition washed over Amy's face and her smile widened.  
“You're his new muse, aren't you?”  
Clara nodded, blushing just a little. She still hadn't gotten used to being called that and especially when other people were saying that about her she still felt tremendously special.  
“I'm so glad he's found someone,” Amy said sincerely, “I told him that he shouldn't be alone. Took him a while but I'm glad he's found you.”  
“I don't think I fully understand yet,” Clara admitted, laughing shyly, “What it means to be his muse or his whatever.”  
“I've been his muse for three whole years and I still don't understand,” Amy laughed, “It's just the thing that he does, I guess. He just falls in love with someone at first sight and decides that he wants to have them around. It's a great feeling though, and a great compliment to be someone's centre of attention, especially if that someone is the Doctor.”  
“When you say he falls in love,” Clara paused, wondering if she had actually heard Amy right, “Does that mean you and the Doctor were. . .”  
Amy suddenly looked horrified at the suggestion. “Oh no, _God, no_ ,” she laughed, “There was nothing between us. Nothing like that. I'm not even sure he does _that_ , if you know what I mean.”  
Since the Doctor had told her that Missy was his ex Clara assumed that _that_ was something the Doctor indeed did, but apparently not with all of his muses.  
“Listen,” Amy said, her voice suddenly a lot more grave than it had been a moment ago, “I feel I have the responsibility to warn you. I got the same warning from one of his former muses, Sarah Jane, and I was really grateful for that because when the time came I was able to make the right decision.”  
“Warn me?” Clara asked.  
“The Doctor is great and he is amazing and generous and kind and you should feel honoured that he chose you because it means that you're special, but be careful. Don't depend on him. Don't let him become the only thing in your life, don't let your world just revolve around him because he's the Doctor and one day he'll lose interest, he'll find a new muse, he'll move on eventually. Don't let him leave you with nothing.”  
Clara swallowed. She had already suspected something like this but the way Amy spoke about it made her wary and it also made her realize that she had only met him a week ago and he had already become a part of her world, a great and exciting part. Clara hadn't considered what would happen if she went in deeper and he someday vanished out of her life.  
“Do you regret it?” Clara found herself asking, “Do you regret being his muse?”  
Amy smiled. “Absolutely not. The years with the Doctor were some of the best years of my life and if I had to make the decision all over again I wouldn't do anything differently. The fact that I left him to get married had nothing to do with the way he treated me. I just thought that for me it was time.”

“ _Who gave you the right, Missy?!_ ”  
Both Clara and Amy shot around when they heard the Doctor yell in a different corner of the gallery. She spotted him in front of a painting, Missy next to him. Immediately she went to see what was wrong and Amy followed her on her heels.  
“ _That painting is private!_ ” he bellowed, “ _I gave it to you because you liked it, not so you could display it for everyone else to see!_ ”  
“Calm down!” Missy yelled back at him, “I'll have it taken down tomorrow, okay? No need to get all worked up.”  
“Great,” he said angrily, “And when you've done that you can burn it. I never want to see it again!”  
“Doctor, what's going on?” Clara asked him but he just turned around and stormed out of the building without saying another word.  
Clara was about to follow him when Missy grabbed her arm.  
“Leave him,” she said, “He'll go home. He'll calm down. Eventually. Give him time.”

Clara realized that Missy was probably right. She took a deep breath and turned around to have a look at the painting that had caused this row. It was dark, a lot darker than what he usually painted. It depicted a blonde woman standing alone in a whirl of grey and black. Everything about this painting was blurry except her and Clara guessed it must have been a former muse. Another one that had left him.  
“Amy, do you know who this is?” Clara asked her.  
The redhead appeared next to her and shrugged. “I have never seen her before in my life. Not in person and not in a painting either.”  
“That's odd,” Clara said, lost in thoughts.  
“Listen, if you want to talk or hang out and gossip about the Doctor,” Amy said and smiled again, handing her a small card, “You can call me. Maybe you'll need advice one day, or just someone to talk to who knows him.”  
Clara took the card out of her hand. “Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for commenting, dears :)
> 
> Also, a friend of mine who is very patient and helpful with me when I want to discuss my fanfics even though she doesn’t ship Whouffaldi at all wrote a fanfic about my fanfic. It is an episode from the Doctor’s past that doesn’t contain any spoilers at all so you can read it without fear. It’s an episode from his relationship with Missy and it’s absolutely lovely!  
> I totally accept this as canon for my story as one of the rare moments the Doctor actually and properly acknowledged Missy. I’ve so far only hinted at what their relationship must have been like and that most of the time the Doctor was pretty much neglecting Missy over his art. But as my friend wraith17 said: there must be a reason they still hold contact after a breakup and a reason for Missy to call him sweet. Apart from the obvious reasons that are still to come to light later.
> 
> You can read it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/5669323


	9. Chapter 9

Clara found him exactly where she thought she would, in his studio, painting furiously and for a long time she watched the Doctor get lost in his art. He looked beautiful like this, sad but utterly beautiful. The Doctor sat on his stool with his waistcoat unbuttoned and the good trousers Missy had given him stained with paint. Clara somehow knew that she would be furious about this. His hair was messy, like it always seemed to be and the lines on his face appeared to be slightly deeper when he was concentrating.  
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked quietly so as not to startle him.  
The Doctor stopped for a moment but soon continued to paint. “No,” he replied.  
Clara nodded. “That's fine. Just know that if you _do_ want to talk that you can tell me. Whatever it is.”  
With a sigh the Doctor placed the spatula aside and stood up from his stool, facing her.  
“I'm sorry,” he said sincerely, “I shouldn't have left you standing at the gallery.”  
“It's okay.”  
“No, it's not. That painting Missy displayed was very personal and I got upset when I saw it again. But that is no reason to just leave you standing there.”  
“Doctor,” Clara wasn't sure why she was asking this but suddenly she had the urge to, “Can I hug you?”  
He frowned at her. “Hug me?”  
“Yeah.”  
“I, erm,” he spluttered as she stepped closer, “I don't usually have a physical relationship with my muses.”  
Despite his protest Clara took one last step and placed her arms around his neck.  
“Make an exception, okay?” she whispered.  
“Okay,” he said back.  
At first the touch on her back was light and reluctant but after a moment he fully closed his arms around her back and pressed her closer. He didn't move for a long while.  
“How does it feel?” Clara asked kindly.  
He paused. “Feels good,” he admitted.  
When he finally let go of her Clara noticed that his hands were shaking.  
“How long has it been since you've slept? Properly slept, I mean.”  
The Doctor opened his mouth to speak but then probably thought better of it. Clara rolled her eyes. Speaking to Missy and Amy about him today had made one thing very clear to her: the Doctor needed her more than he let on and she was going to do her best to make sure he didn't neglect himself over his art. She needed to be his reason and hold him back when he was going too far.  
“You need to sleep,” Clara said determinedly, “Go and put your pyjamas on.”  
He raised an eyebrow. “You've learned a lot from Missy after just one meeting.”  
“Well, you did what she told you to do and now do as I say. Put your pyjamas on and go to bed.”  
“What about sketching you in your dress, huh? We haven't done that yet,” the Doctor objected, his voice lighting up.  
“I'll put the dress back on tomorrow and you can sketch me then. I'm prettier in daylight anyway.”  
Suddenly the Doctor seemed very uncomfortable and she thought there was something on his mind that he didn't dare tell her.  
“I know something that helps with the nightmares,” Clara said gently, “It has always worked for me so far. We can try that if you like.”

Finally the Doctor agreed and walked off in the direction of the bathroom while Clara just changed into more comfortable clothes and then waited for him by his bedroom door. Eventually he emerged from the bathroom and Clara thought it was strange that he had seemed so tall and impressive on the day she had met him and now he appeared so small and fragile, almost broken. He stopped when he saw her.  
“Are you, erm, are you gonna sleep in my bed?” the Doctor asked, now back to being uncomfortable.  
“No,” she smiled, “I'll just wait until you fall asleep. Unless you want me to stay.”  
The Doctor didn't reply as he made his way past her into the bedroom and lay down on his bed, placing his glasses on the bedside table while Clara settled down next to him.  
“Just find a comfortable position and-” Clara stopped when he lay on his side, his hands tucked away under his head and he was looking at her intently, a smile curling around the corners of his lips. It suddenly occurred to her that she was in bed with him. Actually lying in the same bed. Normally this would call for so much more than what Clara was going to do.  
She brushed the thought aside. Clara had managed to suppress her attraction to him well the past few days, realizing that if it was ever going to happen it would have to happen slowly and at his pace.  
“So,” the Doctor asked, “What's your magic trick?”  
“Close your eyes,” she told him gently.  
“But what if I'd rather look at you? Your face is. . . calming.”  
“My face is not going to help you sleep, now close them.”  
Finally he did as he was told.  
“Imagine you're barefoot and you're walking across a meadow,” Clara said as quietly as possible, her voice nothing but a whisper, “The grass is so green and so soft. There's not a single twig or a stone. It's almost like walking on a fluffy carpet. And you breathe in the air and it's so clean, like the rain has washed away all of the dirt and the dust and you can smell the flowers. The place is _beautiful_. Can you see it?”  
“Yeah,” he replied.  
“It's warm, but not too warm. The temperature is just exactly right and the sun is shining. Feel the sun on your skin, Doctor. There are trees and mountains in the distance. The birds are singing and there's a river close b-”  
“No,” the Doctor said all of a sudden.  
“No?”  
“No river.”  
“How about a lake? Or a pond?”  
“No water.”  
“Okay, there's just the meadow then and the trees and the mountains and the singing birds. And you've got your easel with you and your painting supplies and you sit down to paint the landscape,” Clara paused, giving him time to imagine it. This was the place she always imagined to go when she was suffering from bad dreams and she had added the painting for him because she thought it might soothe him. She watched as a soft smile spread across his lips, “You paint the sky because it's the bluest you have ever seen in your life. Just a white cloud here and there, no chance of rain whatsoever.”  
Clara waited for a moment before she said anything else. His breathing had slowed down already and she wasn't sure if he hadn't fallen asleep already.  
“Go on,” he mumbled and Clara could tell that sleep wasn't far away. She was actually getting kind of drowsy, too. After all, it was what she always imagined when she was about to sleep.  
“There's a doe with her fawn. They've come galloping down the hillside from the forest and they're grazing on the meadow right in front of you. They're not even scared. The little fawn is curious and it comes closer, just close enough for you to see it properly and include it in your painting.”  
She paused but this time there was no reply from the Doctor. He had finally drifted off and Clara hoped that he would sleep through now for a couple more hours. He definitely needed it. Afraid to wake him if she moved she decided to stay for a while longer and didn't even notice that she, too, was falling asleep.

 

* * *

 

The sun was already shining through the bedroom window when Clara woke up and she half expected the bed next to her to be empty but when she turned around there he was, still sleeping peacefully. Clara smiled when she spotted him and quickly glanced past him to the clock on his bedside table. It was 8 in the morning. They had both slept for 10 whole hours. Happy and a little pleased with herself Clara rested her head back on the pillow for a moment, her eyes on the Doctor. Right now she felt so close to him even though he would probably freak out if he woke up and found her still in his bed. She wanted to touch his face, kiss those lips that were still somehow smiling in his sleep and mess up his hair just a little bit more. So Clara decided to quietly get out of bed and sneak down into the kitchen before she did something she would probably regret. 

She found a waffle maker under the sink and, feeling pretty hungry, decided to mix together the dough for breakfast while the coffee maker was working its magic. Just when Clara had emptied the bowl to the last drop onto the waffle maker she heard steps coming down the stairs.  
“I've been looking for you,” the Doctor said. Clara turned around to realize he was looking so much better now that he had slept. There were still dark circles under his eyes and it would probably take a month of sleep to get rid of those but his skin tone had already taken on a healthier look.  
“I made breakfast. Do you want some?” she asked with a smile and with a nod the Doctor sat down at the kitchen table.

He actually sat down at the kitchen table for breakfast. No protest. No suggestion they could just as well eat in the studio.  
“How did you sleep?” Clara asked sincerely as she placed two plates, the coffee and the waffles between them.  
The Doctor grinned at her. “I can't remember the last time I slept so well. I didn't have a single dream. Not one. Your little trick really worked. Thank you.”  
“My pleasure,” Clara replied, sticking her fork in the first waffle on the stack.  
“You slept in my bed, didn't you?” the Doctor asked after a moment.  
Clara thought about lying for a moment but the way he looked at her told her that he knew.  
“Sorry, I didn't mean to. I just fell asleep.”  
“It's okay,” he reassured her.

The Doctor also reached for a waffle and took a large sip from his coffee mug.  
“So, what's on the schedule for today? Do you want to sketch me in that dress from last night or do something else?” Clara wanted to know.  
“You know,” he began, “I've been thinking about taking a little break from painting today.”  
Clara's eyes widened in surprise as she looked at him.  
“Really, how come?”  
“I have been living in London since I was 22 and I have never set foot into Madame Tussauds.”  
“You know that's a crime you can go to prison for, right?” she asked jokingly and the Doctor grinned.  
“Would you like to go with me? Leave the sketchbook at home, just you, me, poking the Queen a little?”  
“I'd love to,” Clara agreed, “It's been ages since I've been there. It's gonna be fun.”  
“Good,” the Doctor smiled at her before he turned his attention back to the waffles on his plate.  
Clara felt that something had changed about him, about the nature of their relationship. Amy had told her about how wonderful her time with the Doctor had been and she had given her the impression that leaving him hadn't been an easy decision to make. A part of her wondered what the Doctor had been like with her, whether he had taken her to the London Dungeon or elsewhere, whether they had done other things besides painting together. The look in her eyes had certainly seemed like it.  
“Doctor, can I ask you a favour?”  
He looked up at her. “Well, that would depend on the favour, don't you think?”  
“Tell me something you have never told any of your muses before.”  
The Doctor remained silent for a while and Clara started to doubt he would answer her at all.  
“When I imagined the place you described last night,” he said, “I imagined you there with me.”  
It wasn't something Clara had expected to hear and not even something he _could_ have told a former muse even if he had wanted to but she figured that at worst it was a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your kind and lovely reviews :) I'm happy you're liking the story and as always, the mystery deepens over time.


	10. Chapter 10

“So, your dad's in town?” Danny asked as they walked along the school corridor.  
Clara looked at him, frowning. “What makes you say that?”  
“Timmy says he saw you on Sunday in Madame Tussauds, posing for a selfie with the Queen and someone who looked like your dad.”  
“Ah,” Clara said and gave a nervous laugh before she cleared her throat.  
“Ah?” Danny asked, raising an eyebrow.  
Clara forced a smile. “Not my dad,” she replied simply.  
“Okay? Who was it then?”  
She stopped and frowned at Danny. “Are you sure you really want to know?”  
Suddenly the realisation seemed to strike him.  
“Oh,” he muttered, looking down at his feet, “It's that man from the painting class, am I right?”  
Clara nodded. “Yeah. Sorry, I wouldn't have told you.”  
Danny took a deep breath and continued walking, Clara trailing after him to the staff room for their break.  
“He's a decent guy though, isn't it?” Danny asked after a moment, “I'm not jealous. Well, I am, but I want to make sure you don't end up with a jerk.”  
“Don't worry,” she reassured him with a smile, “He's a bit eccentric but not a jerk. Besides, we're not even really dating. I hope we'll get there though.”  
“Why did Timmy think that he's your dad?”  
“Because his hair is grey,” Clara laughed as she pictured what Timmy might have seen, the Doctor and her fooling around with the wax figures, making faces for the camera in her phone, him flipping off the likeness of several politicians. Not exactly behaving like a teacher should on front of students. But it had been a fun day.  
“How old is he?” Danny wanted to know.  
Clara shrugged. “I don't know, I never asked.”  
“And his name?”  
“The Do-, John. His name is John.”  
Danny fell silent, obviously because the mention of a name had made it too real for him to ignore it further and Clara was glad when another teacher, Lisa, joined them in the staff room. Immediately Clara approached her, a fake smile on her face, and asked her about the latest rumours she had heard about her and Frank. Anything so she wouldn’t have to talk to Danny any longer.

 

* * *

 

Clara was brushing her teeth for the night when she heard her phone ring. With a frown she spit out the rest of the toothpaste and went into her bedroom to see who was calling her so late. Then she saw his name in bright letters on her screen.  
“Doctor, is everything alright?” she asked immediately. They had exchanged their phone numbers during the first weekend they had spent together and he hadn't called her once.  
“I, erm,” he paused, “Yeah.”  
Clara sank down on her bed.  
“And you're calling me because?”  
There was no answer at first, like it was so often the case with him. Despite only knowing him for a little over a week she had learned that whenever he refused to say what was the matter it was usually something personal or something that he hated to admit. When it wasn't about him he could be quite talkative.  
“Having trouble sleeping?” Clara guessed.  
He sighed on the other end of the line. “Yeah,” the Doctor admitted finally.  
“Well, just imagine the place I described to you,” she told him, “It helped last time, right?”  
He paused again. “It's not that. It's. . .”  
Clara waited but he didn't continue on his own.  
“What is it? Tell me.”  
“Your voice,” he replied hesitantly, “I'd like to hear your voice.”  
What he said made something inside her stomach tingle and the things Amy had told her crossed her mind again. _He just falls in love with someone at first sight_. Except that it wasn’t in a way that normal people seemed to fall in love. The Doctor went crazy over someone, like he was going crazy over her right now. It flattered and unsettled her at the same time. If only Clara had something she could compare this situation with.  
“Would you like me to describe that place again? Or something else?” she asked while she settled under her duvet.  
“Can’t you. . .,” he exhaled sharply, “No, forget about it.”  
“About what?”  
Long pause.  
“I was about to ask you to come over but I realized it was a stupid thing to ask. Just forget about it.”  
“Do you have a camera on your phone?” Clara asked suddenly.  
“Why?”  
“Hang on,” she said and held the phone away from her ear, tapping on the video call button. A moment later she saw her face appear in a tiny square on the lower side of the screen. “There, you should see me now.”  
It took the Doctor a few moment but finally the screen lit up and she could see his tired, confused face. Clara started to giggle.  
“Technology, huh?” she laughed.  
“I didn’t know you could do that,” he admitted, still somewhat baffled.  
Clara granted him a smile. “See, it’s almost like I’m there with you.”  
“Is that your bedroom?” the Doctor asked, not looking at her but past her head, “Why do you need three mirrors? Your face isn’t _that_ wide.”  
“Why can’t you sleep, Doctor?” Clara wanted to know, her voice suddenly a lot graver, “How long have you been having these nightmares? What are they about?”  
“Water,” he replied after a while, “I’ve had them for years.”  
Water. That would explain why he didn’t want her to put a river or a lake into her paradise scenario. And why he never used the bathtub. Something about it terrified him to the point that reached deep into his sleep.  
“Missy called me today, apologized,” the Doctor said suddenly, “She organized something. Her way of saying sorry, I guess.”  
“That’s good, isn’t it?” she smiled at him.  
“She called a friend in Paris and they want to display some of my paintings. It’s next month. Missy says I should go.”  
Her smiled widened. “That sounds great. You should definitely go. I've heard Paris is wonderful.”

There was another long pause and Clara could see on his face that this was far from the end of this conversation. Rather it was what the conversation had been building up to.  
“Would you like to come with me? It’s only for a weekend and I have a small apartment in Paris. Haven’t used it in a while.”  
A weekend in Paris with an artist she was definitely attracted to. Clara wanted to agree on the spot. But this was what Amy had been warning her about, wasn’t it? The Doctor was sweeping her off her feet and she saw no way she could control the turn their relationship took. It was the Doctor running ahead and Clara following him on his heels, plunging deeper into his world and she didn't really want it to stop. It was almost like an addiction.  
“If you need to think about it, that’s fine,” he said after a moment.  
“Thank you,” Clara uttered, “You’ll have my answer next weekend, if that’s okay?”  
The Doctor nodded but Clara could tell that he wasn’t happy with her answer. He wanted her there and even though the _yes_ was on the tip of her tongue she refused to say it without thinking about it for at least a couple of days. It would be the reasonable thing to do.

 

* * *

 

“Thank you for agreeing to this,” Clara said, relief in her voice as Amy slipped into the seat across the table.  
She laughed. “Invitation for coffee. Who could refuse?” she asked jokingly, “But I’m a bit surprised you want to talk _already_.”  
Clara inhaled sharply while the waiter took Amy’s order and when the woman turned back to Clara she looked slightly worried.  
“You seem a bit lost. Is everything alright?”  
Clara told her everything, simply everything. How she had met the Doctor, how she was attracted to him in a way that was more than admiration and friendship. About how worried she was because he neglected food and sleep and about his nightmares and refusal to talk about anything personal.  
“Is that what it’s like with him _all the time_?” Clara wanted to know, “I don’t understand myself. He is obviously troubled and my common sense tells me it would probably be better if I stayed away and yet I can’t because. . . Because. . .”  
Because it was an addiction. Something about the Doctor just drew Clara to him. Was it because she was attracted to him? Because he told her she was beautiful? Because she had become the centre of his attention and the egomaniac in her was loving it?  
“It’s not always like that,” Amy reassured her with a kind smile, “He has these phases and then they die down a bit. I won’t deny that he has problems because I know he has. But if you’re hoping I can tell you any more then I’m sorry to disappoint you. He never told me anything about his past but after a while I stopped caring because we had fun, because he was lovely and adventurous. Because he cared for me and I for him. It didn’t really matter. And I don’t think he ever really lets anyone close. I’m surprised you got so far as to notice he has nightmares. I didn’t even know that.”  
Clara sighed. Amy had been her last hope of finding out a bit more about the Doctor. Well, she could always ask Missy but something told her that whatever Missy knew she would keep that to herself.  
“Go to Paris with him,” Amy suddenly said, “He obviously had a difficult time when you met him. But with me he has always loosened up outside of his studio. Give him a chance.”  
“ _You_ were the one who warned me about not getting in too deep.”  
Amy shrugged. “You seem to be thinking about this more already than I ever did. And you don’t even really know him yet. You don’t know how wonderful it can be. And he’s crazy for you, give him a chance to show it. I think he deserves that.”  
Clara took a deep breath. “Okay, if you say so.”  
“Now, tell me, does he still own that ridiculous pair of question mark underpants?”  
She laughed and Amy laughed and they spent the rest of the afternoon talking about the Doctor, light subjects like his choice of clothing, and then moved on to what Clara did for a living and how Amy was working as a journalist and about how she and her husband Rory were close to wrapping up the adoption of a girl named Melody. They both got along surprisingly well and Clara felt certain it wouldn’t be the last time they met over a cup of coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your comments and for making my day with them ;)


	11. Chapter 11

“I have something to show you!” the Doctor announced happily as they stepped inside his house after the painting class on Friday.  
Clara followed him upstairs and once they had reached his studio the Doctor was starting to grin proudly at her. At first Clara had no clue what it was about or what he was trying to show her. She had seen the painting that was currently on his easel already during a video call. But then she saw it.  
Clara hadn't looked around the entire studio because in the time she had already spent with the Doctor she had memorized its look and décor but now her eyes fell on the spot that had previously been occupied by the painting of Amy in the barley field. Only it wasn't there any longer. Instead there was now a painting of a place Clara knew all too well. It was her paradise scenario, exactly like she had always thought it would look like. The sky, the mountains, the green meadows, the trees. And she was in it, too. Her back was turned to the viewer but she still recognized her hair and her favourite shirt. Her arm was stretched out behind her and she was holding a hand of someone who was outside of the picture. For a moment Clara was too stunned to say anything.  
“That is you,” the Doctor said quietly from behind her, “Leading me into your dream world.”  
She didn't know what surprised her most. Certainly not that he had painted her because that was what she had come to his house for in the first place. It was the intimacy of the picture that baffled her, like her paradise scenario had suddenly become their scenario, a secret world that they shared that no one else knew about. And then there was the fact that he had taken down the painting of Amy to replace it with one depicting her.  
“I worked on it almost every night the past week before I went to sleep. I couldn't stop thinking about it,” the Doctor explained.  
Clara turned around and looked at him. She hadn't realized how much her story had meant to him until this point.  
“I don't know what to say,” she admitted after a moment.  
The Doctor smiled at her. “You don't have to say anything. You're my muse now. It's only fitting that a picture of you should be where I can see it at all times.”  
“But what about the painting of Amy?” Clara found herself asking, “I thought that was beautiful.”  
“Amy?” the Doctor cocked an eyebrow, “Why are you calling her _Amy_?”  
And that was when it occurred to Clara that they hadn't even talked about her running into Amy at the gallery. Or the fact that she had gone out for coffee with his former muse.  
“I, erm,” Clara hesitated, “I've sort of met Amy at the gallery. And. . . we went out for coffee. We'll probably go out for coffee again as well. Is that a problem?”  
The Doctor didn't say anything in reply.  
“She's really nice and we get along,” she bit down on her lip, “Or is this a bit weird for you? The muse and the. . . ex muse?”  
The Doctor blew the air from his lungs. “I don't know. I can't say I've ever been in this situation before,” he paused, raising his eyebrows further, “You don't talk about _me_ , do you?”  
Clara giggled. “What? Are you afraid she's going to tell me about your question mark underpants?”  
He groaned in reply and turned away from her. Clara didn't quite understand what came over her in this moment but a second later she threw her arms around him in a tight hug despite his protests.  
“Clara,” the Doctor swallowed hard, “What are you doing?”  
She smiled against the fabric of his holey jumper. “Thanking you. I love the painting. I love that you hung it there. And I've decided to come to Paris with you.”  
The Doctor suddenly pushed her away from him, his hands remaining on her arms and a wide grin spread across his face.  
“You have to pack an evening dress, or better yet two,” he said excitedly, “I have so many things I want to show you in Paris. We could go to the opera or see a concert and the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe and-”  
“Stop,” Clara told him, laughing, “Are we staying a weekend or three weeks?”  
“Doesn't mean we can't use the weekend to the fullest, does it?”  
A smile crossed her lips and she raised her hand to gently cup the Doctor’s cheek. This time he didn’t draw back from her touch.  
“I’m looking forward to the weekend, Doctor,” she said sincerely. 

 

* * *

 

One thing Clara hadn't even considered was her family, especially since the Sunday she would be spending in Paris was her grandmother's birthday and she, along with the rest of her family, had been invited over for tea. Clara knew that her grandmother would tell her to take the chance and go to Paris, she knew that her grandmother loved that city, having spend so many wonderful holidays there with her late husband that she wouldn't be mad and yet Clara still felt this pang in her stomach as she picked up the phone to cancel on her grandmother.  
“Clara, honey,” her grandmother greeted her in a friendly manner, “How are you?”  
“I'm fine,” Clara replied and cleared her throat, “How about you?”  
There was a small pause at the other end of the line before her grandmother spoke again. “Something tells me you're not calling me because you're 'fine'. What is it, honey? Spill!”  
Damn. Her grandmother just knew her all too well.  
“Bit of a guilty conscience,” she admitted, “Do you remember when I told you about the art class I was going to attend?”  
“Yes, I remember,” she said, “Still waiting for a painting from you to hang in my living room.”  
Clara laughed. “Oh, it's still gonna be a while until I create something living room worthy, I think. We're only just starting. But. . .”  
“But what, honey?” her grandmother asked kindly.  
“I've been invited to go to Paris. It's sort of related to the art class but it would be on the weekend of your birthday,” Clara confessed, her voice low and insecure.  
“Don't even think about blowing that off for my birthday and don't you even start to feel bad about that,” she said strictly, “Every young woman should see Paris! You go and you have fun!”  
“You're not mad that I'll be missing your birthday?”  
“Not at all,” her grandmother reassured her, “I'll still be a year older when you return and we'll have tea, just the two of us. And you better take pictures and show them to me. _Oh, I miss Paris_. You know, I would blow off my own birthday party if that meant I could go to the city of love.”  
Clara giggled. She had known her grandmother would say exactly that but hearing it from her was a relief.  
“Thanks, granny,” Clara said, smiling to herself, “I'll bring you something nice from Paris and I'll call you when I get back.”  
After they hung up Clara felt relieved and was now looking forward to Paris with the Doctor even more. Who knew what new experiences and adventures that city had in store for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your sweet reviews :)


	12. Chapter 12

The plane touched down in Paris at 4:30 p.m., the time Clara now usually spent in his painting class, and the Doctor practically hurried Clara out of the airport as quickly as it was possible. She didn't even get the chance to breathe before they were inside a taxi.  
“What's the rush?” Clara asked him as soon as she was able to catch her breath.  
The Doctor beamed at her. “We need to get to my apartment quickly and change. I'm taking you to a concert at 6 and to dinner after that. Tomorrow we'll do the Eiffel Tower and some other sights before the gallery event in the afternoon. What we do tomorrow evening is entirely up to you.”  
“Wow,” Clara breathed, smiling back at him, “You've really thought this through, haven't you? What's the concert you're taking me to?”  
“Yo-Yo Ma is playing Bach's cello suits at the Salle Pleyel. He's a world famous cellist. I've seen him once before. You will love it. And I've reserved a table at the L'Arc afterwards.”  
Clara had never before heard of the cellist, in fact, she hardly knew anything about classical music at all and the name of the restaurant didn't ring a bell either. But from the way the Doctor looked at her, so proud and pleased with himself, Clara could guess that both were really special. 

As it turned out the Doctor's apartment was at the top of a high building and was actually more of a loft than an apartment. There was only one room with a large double bed, a sofa and coffee table, a small corner for the kitchen and the only room that was really separate was the bathroom. It had a roof access and more painting supplies than the Doctor could possibly use. The walls were lined with paintings like they were in his London house, only here Clara spotted a few shadows on the wall where she assumed there had once been pictures as well. For some reason the Doctor must have taken them down.  
“You can have a look later,” the Doctor said hurriedly, “Come on! Get dressed!”  
With a sigh Clara walked into bathroom and changed into her dark blue evening dress. After applying some make up and checking if her hair was still in place she emerged into the main room again and found the Doctor adjusting his bow. Not a tie, not a bow tie, but a simple black bow standing in stark contrast to his white shirt. He looked dashing and a smile spread across her face. For the first time it really struck her: They were in Paris, the city of love, a wonderful, handsome man was taking her to a concert and to dinner and he seemed to have no clue that that was the best possible date Clara could ever imagine.  
“Here, let me,” she said and stepped closer, taking the bow out of his hands and tying it properly. When it looked decent Clara straightened his shirt with her hands.  
“You look really handsome tonight, Doctor.”  
“And you, Clara Oswald,” he smiled broadly at her, “You look beautiful.”  
“You’re tempted to paint me, am I right?”  
“Absolutely.”  
Clara giggled and reached for his jacket, handing it to him.  
“Resist it,” she told him determinedly.  
“ _The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it_ ,” the Doctor replied, winking at her.  
Clara started to laugh. “ _Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself_. I know a Wilde quote when I see one. English teacher, remember? Now, come on. You were the one urging me to hurry a moment ago.”

 

* * *

 

The concert hall was large and elegant and the Doctor led her to their seats in the centre of the room.  
“I'm sorry. These seats were all I could do at such short notice,” he apologized as they sat down.  
“Are you kidding me?” Clara asked. She had a great view on the stage and it was pretty much about the music anyway, not only about seeing the cellist perform. She smiled at him. “The seats are great. _This_ is great. I've never actually been to a classical concert. How do people even behave at this sort of thing? Do you clap or-”  
The Doctor let out a laugh. “Just do what everyone else does. Enjoy the music. The first cello suit is a masterpiece.”  
As it turned out Clara didn't need any prior knowledge about classical music to tell that it was beautiful and moving and unlike anything she had ever heard so far. She watched in awe as the cellist seemed to caress his instrument, wondering how on earth it could be that what she saw was able to produce the tones that resonated through every cell of her body.  
“Do you like it?” the Doctor whispered into her ear.  
“Shhh!”, Clara hushed him but a moment later she turned around, smiling, “I love it.”  
He seemed pleased with himself as she looked at him and it was at this moment that Clara realized what Amy had been talking about. This was the Doctor Amy had known, the Doctor she had admired and loved, the Doctor who had showed her his world that Clara had so far assumed only consisted of paintings. But now she knew that there was so much more to it and she couldn't wait so see the rest.

 

* * *

 

As wonderful and extraordinary as the concert had been the restaurant was anything but a letdown afterwards. Even though she had never heard of _L'Arc_ before tonight Clara soon realized that every single person in this restaurant probably had. It was posh, to say the least. The Doctor was really going to great lengths to make this trip memorable for her. It dawned on her then that everyone, including the waiter who took their order and recommended a wine, probably thought they were a couple and the idea of it made her giggle.  
“What is it?” the Doctor asked her.  
“Nothing,” Clara smiled, “It's just. . . it's wonderful. We're in _Paris_. Classical music, nice restaurant, great wine, food on the way. Not quite what I was expecting when you invited me to come with you.”  
“What exactly were you expecting?”  
The Doctor took a sip from his wine but didn't seem to like the taste and put the glass back on the table.  
“I don't know. Not this. But it's a nice surprise,” Clara replied sincerely.  
Over dinner they talked some more about the city and this restaurant and the Doctor let slip that this building also held a famous night club and suddenly he had caught her attention.  
“Can we go, please?” she begged him, smiling.  
“To the night club?” the Doctor frowned at her in disbelief.  
“Yes,” Clara replied, laughing, “Come on, we did the concert and this restaurant. Let me pick something.”  
“You can pick something tomorrow,” he promised her and Clara tried to give him the best puppy dog eyes she could muster. The Doctor sighed. “I hate night clubs. All this jumping and grinding, it feels like being in a zoo, surrounded by monkeys. Besides, aren't you tired?”  
Clara shook her head. Oddly enough she wasn't tired even though she knew she should be. She had gotten up early for school today but Paris and the concert and the dinner had been so marvellous so far that she seemed to have forgotten about everything else. It was almost was if the entire city was buzzing inside her head along with the wine and the idea of the life the Doctor was leading. She was bursting with energy. Right now she was so grateful that he had picked her and decided to make her his muse.  
“I have a better idea,” the Doctor said after a while, “How about we go home?”

The smile froze on Clara's lips while her brain was trying to process the Doctor's suggestion but after a while she told herself that she should know better than to expect what she was desperately hoping for. She knew it wouldn't happen. Not yet anyway.  
“I think I know of something that you would enjoy,” he smirked at her as he waved for the waiter and paid and Clara was growing increasingly curious about what the Doctor had planned next. 

He gave nothing away on the ride to his apartment and Clara was a little confused when they stepped inside but the Doctor immediately walked across the room and opened the door to the roof access, gesturing for her to follow him.  
“You wanna go up there?” Clara asked, swallowing hard. She was afraid of heights and she wasn't entirely sure she was actually going to like the idea of standing on a rooftop.  
“Trust me,” he said kindly, “Paris at night is a sight to behold.”  
The Doctor walked up the last flight of stairs with Clara following him on his heels but when he stepped across the roof she stopped until he noticed and turned around.  
“There's nothing to be afraid of, Clara,” he told her, “Come and see.”  
She was reluctant to step closer to the edge, feeling a little unsteady on her feet but from the wine or fright Clara couldn't really tell. The Doctor outstretched his hand to her and carefully Clara took it, letting him lead her almost up to the edge of the roof.  
Once she found her feet solid on the ground again and the Doctor's hand on her waist was supporting her she dared to look, really look and something struck her. She couldn't explain what it was or where it had come from but it was there the moment she looked down on the city below her feet and Clara took a deep breath. Everything was so tiny, so insignificant, so unimportant that it made all of her fears, all of her problems vanish. Right now she was above them all and nothing could touch her. It hit her then and she started to laugh. She didn't matter. The Doctor didn't matter. They were like the people far down below her feet, tiny insects crawling all over the planet and yet here they were. Clara important to the Doctor, the Doctor important to her. It seemed insane to even think about it.  
The Doctor also laughed next to her. “What is it, Clara?”  
“I'm scared of heights,” she replied, unable to suppress her giggles.  
“Then why are we up here? You could have said something. Let's get back inside.”  
“No,” Clara said and turned to look at the Doctor. She was laughing and he didn't even understand why, “I love it. My heart is racing, I'm trembling like mad, I'm terrified and I love it.”  
The Doctor frowned at her. He still didn't get it.  
“I love it!” she repeated for him, louder this time, “I feel alive! For the first time in years I feel like an actual living, breathing person again! I'm standing on a rooftop in Paris, I'm in my evening dress, I'm scared shitless and I love it!”  
In a sudden surge of bravery she stepped forward just a little further, letting go of the Doctor's hand until she was standing free and able to look straight down. It was frightening and wonderful. One more step, the loss of balance and it could be over in an instant. Clara had never felt so alive before.  
“Clara,” the Doctor said in a sombre, almost wary tone, “Come back from the edge, please.”  
She turned around to face him. The Doctor seemed as tiny as the rest of them. He looked so scared as the edge was right behind her and a thrill shot right through her bones. He was afraid she was going to fall, he cared about her that much at least.  
“Why did you choose me, Doctor?” she asked him, smiling, “Why me out of every woman on earth?”  
“I don't know, Clara,” he said desperately, holding out his hand for her to take. But she didn't, “Please, just come back here.”  
She shook her head frantically. She was loving this. Even though she could lose control over her body any second, Clara had complete control over him right now. “No, Doctor. Tell me! Why me?!”  
“I can't tell you, Clara, because I don't know!” the Doctor was yelling at her. God, he looked so desperate, so lost, “I'm begging you, Clara! Come down!”  
Clara shuffled backwards until the back of her shoes hit the little barrier on the very edge of the roof. Just a little further. Just pushing it a little more.  
“Kiss me, Doctor!” she laughed, her breath came out ragged. God, she wanted him to kiss her now more than ever. Couldn't he feel it, too? “Kiss me and I'll step away from the edge!”  
“Clara, what's gotten into you? Please, _please_ , just take my hand!” he took a small step forwards, his hand still held in her direction but Clara didn't budge. Were those tears in his eyes? Was he crying? “CLARA, WHY ON EARTH ARE YOU DOING THIS?!”  
“Because I can!” she yelled back at him, “Because I could jump and only a handful of people would care. We're _nothing_ , Doctor. I could die and the sun would rise tomorrow and the world would continue to turn and I have never felt so alive before! I was dead, Doctor! I was dead before I met you and I didn't even know I was! I wanna live like you do, on the edge! Never tired! Never hungry! _I just wanna live!_ ”  
“THAT ISN'T LIVING CLARA,” he yelled desperately, “Now, please, _please_ come back down! God, why does this always happen to me!”  
He stepped forward, trying to grab her, intending to pull her away when suddenly Clara's feet slipped and she could feel herself fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all soooooooooooo much for the comments. And I am terribly sorry about the heart attack you are just experiencing :D


	13. Chapter 13

She felt numb, so numb, hardly aware of how tightly his arms were wrapped around her, hardly aware of his face pressed against her hair, hardly aware that he was muttering her name over and over again.  
“I've got you,” he breathed, tightening his grip around her, “My Clara, I've got you.”  
The Doctor was crying in earnest now and slowly the heaviness of what she had done was starting to dawn on Clara. She wouldn't have jumped, not ever, not really. But for one moment there had been the temptation of the possibility that she could and that he would have cared. It had been a powerful feeling, almost godlike. It hadn't been right and now she felt terrible about it.  
“I'm sorry,” Clara whispered against the fabric of his jacket, “I'm so, so sorry.”  
There was no reply from him other than quiet sobbing. God, if she could turn back time and undo what she had just done she would. Clara hadn't meant to hurt him like this.  
“I'm sorry, Doctor,” she said, “I didn't mean to scare you. I wouldn't have jumped. I just. . . I don't know. I'm sorry.”  
“It's my fault,” the Doctor said after a while, “It's all my fault. I do this. I don't want to but everyone around me just breaks and I can't stop. I just can't be alone but things like this, they always happen. Everyone I'm with just ends up broken.”  
“Not me,” Clara replied immediately and finally closed her arms around him as well, “Not me, Doctor. I was broken before I met you. It's not your fault. If anything you fixed me.”  
Suddenly the Doctor pulled away and held her at a distance, looking at her through red eyes, apparently unable to believe what she had just said. “Fix you? That's what you call this?”  
“I meant what I said. I was practically dead before you came into my life. There was no adventure, no joy, just boredom. I was going crazy,” Clara reached for the lapels of his jacket and pulled him closer, “With you, for the first time, I feel like there is more than just existing.”  
For a moment Clara thought he would kiss her, she truly believed it would happen out of sheer relief that she was unhurt. But the Doctor just kept staring at her.  
“Please, can we start over?” she begged him, “I don't want this to be the thing you remember about our weekend in Paris. The concert, the restaurant, that was wonderful. You were wonderful. I'm so sorry I ruined it. Please, let's just forget it ever happened.”  
After a moment the Doctor nodded but his expression had taken on an angry tone. “Promise me you will never do anything like that again. _Promise me!_ ”  
His hands were still on her arms, shaking her and his grip was starting to hurt.  
“I promise,” she replied.  
“God, Clara,” he breathed in relief and before she knew what was happening he had wrapped his arms around her once more.  
Clara had no idea how long it lasted this time but at some point she was starting to feel a little cold. And tired. Very tired. Whatever had happened earlier seemed to have drained her from her previous burst of energy and now all she was really craving was a bed and a warm duvet.  
“Doctor,” Clara whispered after a while, “Can we go back inside?”  
When he released her from the embrace and looked at her the Doctor seemed utterly broken. She couldn't say what was going on inside his mind but Clara didn't have to. It was all her fault. When she reached out to take his hand there was no protest, he didn't even flinch as she touched him and started leading him back downstairs and once back inside he seemed reluctant to let go again.  
“I think we both need some sleep,” Clara concluded as she took off her jacket.  
The Doctor nodded. “Yeah, you're right. You can have the bed. I'll take the sofa.”  
“Don't be silly. It's a huge bed. We can both sleep in it,” Clara paused, “Unless you don't want to?”  
Something crossed his mind, Clara could see it reflected on his face. Was it relief? She couldn't quite tell.  
“I thought you wouldn't want to,” he replied.

Clara kicked off her shoes and took the hair slide out of her hair, shaking her head until it fell unto her shoulders before she crawled under the duvet, still wearing her evening dress. She wouldn't wear it again this weekend so it didn't matter if she wrinkled it and Clara was way too tired to change into her pyjamas by now.  
The Doctor obviously had the same thoughts. He simply took off his glasses, shoes, jacket and bow and settled on the bed next to her. They remained looking at each other for a moment before he reached for her hand and pulled it up to his chest, resting it right above his heart.  
“Let's go back to the meadow,” the Doctor whispered gently, “We could have a picnic there, watch the noisy fawn.”  
“Yeah,” Clara smiled as she closed her eyes, “That sounds lovely.”  
Clara thought she would sleep immediately but suddenly the Doctor spoke again.  
“You were wrong about one thing, Clara,” he said softly, “We're not nothing. Quite the contrary. We're _everything_.”  
Clara opened her eyes for a moment but saw that he had his closed.  
“Every single person you saw from up there is important. They all have their life, people who love them, hopes and dreams and fears and nightmares. It's true, in the grand scheme of things we might seem small but as an individual we're all irreplaceable,” he paused, “Nothing could ever replace you or me, no matter what came before or what will come after.”

 

* * *

 

Clara woke up when she felt the Doctor twist next to her and she sat immediately to realize that he was having a nightmare again. He was tossing in the sheets and there was sweat on his forehead and he was whispering her name in his sleep. Gently Clara placed her hand on his cheek and he woke with a start.  
“Shhhh,” she calmed him, “You were dreaming again, Doctor.”  
He stared at her in the darkness.  
“I'm here,” Clara whispered, “I'm fine, you're fine. Think about our meadow. We're there right now, having a picnic.”  
Before Clara could react his arms were around her, pulling her against his chest.

 

* * *

 

The Doctor must have slept through the rest of the night Clara assumed because when she woke up again the sun was shining and they had shifted in their sleep. He was still holding her, her back pressed tightly against him. It felt wonderful, _he_ felt wonderful, gentle and warm and safe, with his entire body touching her, his arm wrapped her around her waist. And he smelled good, too. The more Clara woke up the more aware she became of all the details of their embrace. She was holding the Doctor's hand against her chest, his face was nuzzled so sensually against the skin of her neck that Clara was beginning to wish he would turn her over on her back, kiss her and make love to her. She loved the feeling of him all over her body and she was sure she would love the feeling of him inside of her even more. Now that Clara came to think about it. . . didn't the area into which her arse was pressed feel a little. . . _hard_?  
She shuffled a little closer to him to see if she was right but her movements seemed to have woken him as the Doctor soon started shifting next to her. Clara suspected he would immediately release her and put some distance between them but it didn't happen.  
“Good morning,” he whispered into her ear as if this was something they did regularly, as if nothing had ever happened the night before.  
“Good morning,” she replied, a smirk on her lips, “Feeling good?”  
Clara wanted to clap her hand over her mouth. She should have asked him if he had slept well or anything but _that_ while his pelvis was pressed against her arse.  
He paused for a moment and then drew his arm back and sat up on the bed next to her. Clara turned around, looking at him.  
“Are you okay?” she asked him, “I know you've had the nightmares again.”  
“I, erm, I'm fine,” he hesitated a moment, as if he was torn, “Are _you_ okay?”  
“Yes,” Clara replied, smiling, “Don't worry about me.”  
Still the Doctor didn't seem quite convinced.  
“I'm _fine_ ,” she reassured him, “Forget what happened yesterday. I have no idea what happened there, I can't explain it but I know it won't happen again. I'm sorry that I scared you, that wasn't my intention.”  
“It's my fault,” the Doctor said and looked down, “People, they change around me. I've seen it happen before. But you've only been with me for two months, Clara.”  
He looked back up, right into her eyes and she could see the pain on his face. “It's too soon.”  
Clara wasn't sure what to reply. “Maybe,” she paused, “Maybe if you told me about your past, about what happened with the others-”  
“No,” the Doctor replied sharply.  
“Why not?” she asked.  
“Because some things are too painful to talk about,” he said and jumped up from the bed, “I'm going to take a shower.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you sooooooooooo much for the lovely comments, including the screaming and yelling and I hope this chapter makes up for the heart attack you may have experienced :D


	14. Chapter 14

Clara headed for the shower after him and it felt good to wash the previous day off of her skin but the more she tried not to think about how much she had hurt the Doctor with her actions the guiltier she felt about it and that was something not even the hot water could rinse off. She combed her hair neatly and slipped into more comfortable clothes before she headed back into the main room to find the Doctor sitting at his easel. At first he didn't even notice her.  
“What are you painting?” Clara asked him, trying to make conversation.  
The Doctor let out a groan, dropped the brush and ran his hands through his hair. “Nothing, really. Random lines and shapes,” he looked up at her, “Are you hungry? There's nothing in the fridge but I know of a nice little _boulangerie_ just around the corner.”  
“You speak French?” Clara smiled at him.  
“A little. I used to spend a lot of time here in Paris whenever I needed a change of scenery. Not so much in the past few years though.”  
She nodded. “Breakfast sounds nice.”

Clara noticed how warm it was for an autumn morning as they walked outside and headed for the bakery the Doctor had been talking about and at first Clara thought nothing about how he held out his arm for her to take.  
“I've been thinking,” he said after a while, “How about we just skip the gallery event?”  
Clara turned to look at him. “But isn't the gallery event the reason we came to Paris in the first place?”  
The Doctor smiled at her mischievously. “No, the reason we came to Paris is because Missy bought the plane tickets and said I could attend. It's just publicity, I don't need to be there. They've got the paintings already. Whether or not they sell them I can't influence anyway. Instead we could go to Montmartre, see Sacré-Coeur, Notre Dame and of course the Eiffel Tower. I want you to enjoy this weekend, Clara.”  
He seemed so sincere and suddenly Clara became aware of how tightly the Doctor held on to her arm as if he was afraid to let go. As if he had been afraid to let go since last night.  
“When does the plane leave tomorrow?” Clara found herself asking.  
“7:30 in the evening. Why?”  
“So,” Clara said, “We've got all day tomorrow, yeah?”  
The Doctor cocked an eyebrow at her.  
“How about we just get the food and then go back to the apartment?” Clara suggested, “We could just stay inside all day, hang out, you could paint me, I could try to paint _you_.”  
She laughed at the idea of it.  
“But we're in Paris,” the Doctor said.  
“Paris is still going to be here tomorrow. And don't tell me you're not feeling like painting. I know you are.”  
He looked at her as if he was going to protest and Clara decided she wanted to be faster than that.  
“I want it,” she reassured him, “We did the concert and the restaurant yesterday, so let's just do _nothing_ today.”

Finally Clara had convinced him and after some grocery shopping they went straight back to the apartment and settled on the sofa together, eating croissants, drinking coffee and sketching each other. Clara knew she wasn't bad at drawing but the Doctor's hair was starting to give her a headache. She groaned loudly.  
The Doctor began to laugh. “You're torturing the pencil. Here, let me show you.”  
He leaned closer and wrapped his own hand around Clara's, leading her over the sketchbook pencil stroke by pencil stroke.  
“There, that's better,” he said as the curls of his silver hair were slowly coming together on the paper.  
Clara giggled. “Your hands are huge!”  
“They’re not,” the Doctor argued.  
“Yes, they are. Look.”  
Clara dropped the pencil and took the Doctor’s hand, holding his palm against her own.  
“They’re not _huge_ ,” he said determinedly, “Your hands are just tiny.”  
He paused and lifted their hands up to press a swift kiss on her knuckles. “Tiny, tiny hands.”  
Clara smiled at him, loving this side of him that he was showing her right now. Something about him had changed, the possibility of losing her last night had changed him.  
“Did you take Amy to Paris?” Clara asked all of a sudden.  
She half expected the Doctor to pull back from her but this time he didn’t. Instead he smile back at her.  
“I wanted to,” he explained, “But she was busy that weekend. Something about her job. That weekend was one of the craziest I’ve ever had.”  
Clara raised her eyebrows. “Coming from you that should mean something.”  
The Doctor laughed. “I went to the gallery on my own and met this woman there. Her name was Lady Christina de Souza. She was absolutely mad. I invited her to my apartment, I sketched her, she brought this stuff that we tried together.”  
He pointed at a rather bizarre and yet fascinating looking painting.  
“And on Sunday noon the police came knocking on my door. Apparently she had had a Vermeer in her suitcase the entire time.”  
He was still laughing as if it was nothing but a joke to him while Clara’s eyes widened. The Doctor simply shrugged.  
“She had stolen it. And then she fled over the roof. I have no idea what became of her.”

Suddenly the Doctor jumped up from the sofa and started looking through some of the drawers until apparently he found what he had been looking for.  
"What is that?" Clara wanted to know.  
“Salvia Divinorum,” the Doctor replied with a grin as he sat back down next to her, “It's harmless. Just puts you in a kind of trance state for half an hour.”  
Clara felt somewhere between wary and mildly intrigued.  
“That's what you took when you painted that?” she asked, nodding towards the picture he had pointed at just a moment ago. It was more colourful and less realistic than his other works despite deploying realistic themes.  
“Well, after, but yes,” he explained.  
“Can I try it with you?”  
Suddenly the Doctor seemed hesitant. “You don't even know what it is and what it does.”  
Clara shrugged. “I trust you.”  
For a moment he said nothing at all and then shook his head slowly. “Not at the same time. I want to be able to watch over you and I would feel better if you had an eye on me, too.”  
She frowned. “But you said it's harmless. What exactly does it do that you would need watching over?”  
“It is and last time I just sat here, basically daydreaming. Doesn't mean it has to be the same this time. Would you be okay with that? If I used it and then you decide if you want to have a go?” he asked sincerely.  
Her frown deepened. “I'm not sure.”  
“I don't have to,” the Doctor replied immediately, “It was just an idea.”  
“It's not that,” Clara explained, “I somehow hate the though of you diving into a world where I can't follow.”  
The Doctor nodded. “Then let's just forget about it.”  
He was about to get up from the sofa when Clara stopped him.  
“No,” she said determinedly, “It's okay. Do it. I'll have an eye on you. And I'm curious what you'll paint after.”

Despite her decision Clara grew more and more nervous as the Doctor retrieved a hookah from one of the cupboards and continued to prepare it. She comforted herself with the idea that he would only be sort of daydreaming and that it wouldn't last long and yet she felt a little bit scared. She would have tried it _with_ him without hesitation because somehow she trusted him beyond reason but he didn't even seem to trust himself.  
She watched him as the Doctor took a long drag before he leaned back against the sofa and turned to look at her.  
“So?” Clara asked, hoping that her insecurity didn't show too much.  
The Doctor smiled at her. “I'm fine.”  
She nodded and was about to look away and leave him be when he suddenly reached for her hand. He let himself fall backwards on the couch into a lying position and pulled Clara along with him. She would have landed next to him but there wasn't enough space, so instead she landed on top. He didn't seem to mind the physical connection at all.  
“Doctor?” Clara breathed, “What are you doing?”  
“Shhh,” he whispered, gently cupping her face in his hands. He stared so intently at her that Clara thought he was studying her. “I just wanna look.”  
His caress was so soft as he stroked the hair out of her face and carefully outlined her features, her eyebrows, her nose, her lips, the area around her eyes with the tip of his thumb. He _was_ studying her and he seemed to be completely lost in it. Clara needed all of her willpower not to act on the feelings his touch was rousing inside of her. Their bodies were pressed against each other, even more intimately now than they had been this morning and he was so gentle with her, so loving in the way he touched her, looked at her that all she wanted to do was to bend down and kiss him. Yet she knew that it was wrong, that it was the wrong timing. The Doctor wouldn't want her to and Clara didn't even want to say anything that could disturb him, not when he seemed so utterly at peace.

Clara let him explore her face, her eyes and after a while she noticed that the Doctor's gaze lost its focus and he was beginning to wake up from his trance. Some part of her felt relieved that nothing bad had happened, that he was slowly returning to her and yet she knew that she would miss his touch as soon as it stopped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so, so, so much for your comments :)))) They make me so happy!
> 
> I'd also like to make clear that I haven't tried the drug/herb I've been describing in this chapter but only talked to people that have and it certainly wasn't meant as a recommendation :D


	15. Chapter 15

Once the Doctor had truly returned to normal he settled in front of a canvas and started painting while Clara retrieved a book from her suitcase and read with relaxing music in the background. She liked the fact that he didn't talk right now and if she was honest she wasn't really concentrating on her book at all. Clara's mind was still back on when she had been lying on top of him and he had touched her no matter how much she tried to ban these thoughts from her head. Once the Doctor had come down from his trip Clara had decided not to try it. She had seen what effect it had had on him and even though he had told her it would probably be different for her she had decided against it. She wasn't keen on losing control over herself and doing something she might regret. After a while however the silence became kind of unnerving.  
“Doctor?” she asked.  
“Mh?” he looked up at her but Clara tried to avoid his gaze.  
“Do you ever paint people in the nude?”  
“Of course,” the Doctor replied.  
Clara tried to sound as matter-of-factly as possible. She wasn't sure why exactly she was asking him this, maybe to try to find out whether he would mind taking their new found intimacy a little further. “Would you paint _me_ in the nude?”  
There was a pause, not a long one but long enough for Clara to notice his hesitation.  
“I don't see why not,” he said eventually, his focus back on the painting in front of him, “But not here. The light in here isn't good enough for a decent portrait.”

Clara put the book aside and got up from the sofa, walking up to the Doctor to have a look at what he was working on. She was curious what his trip had inspired him to and was surprised when she was facing another portrait of herself.  
“Wow,” she uttered without even meaning to.  
Even though it was undoubtedly her she looked so different in it. Instead of her usual brown irises her eyes were made up of tiny worlds, a small planet earth with the oceans and the continents in each of them. Her eyebrows and hair also weren't brown but dark blue and stars were dripping from the ends over her shoulder.  
“I know it's a little different,” the Doctor said, “It's okay if you don't like it.”  
“I do,” she breathed, “I do like it. Very much. Is that what you saw in me earlier?”  
“Something like that,” he replied.  
“Do you want to take a break?” Clara asked him, “I could make us a cup of coffee and we could have a look at those biscuits we bought at the bakery earlier.”  
The Doctor looked at her over his shoulder and set his brush down. “Yeah, sounds good,” he agreed. 

She prepared the coffee, careful to make it strong just the way she knew the Doctor liked it while he unpacked the biscuits and settled on the sofa. A few minutes later Clara sat down next to him and quietly sipped her coffee for a while, watching him. An idea started to form in her mind, yet Clara wasn't sure how the Doctor would react to her suggestion.  
“You know what we could do?” she said, looking down at herself, not at him.  
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.  
Clara took a deep breath. “I know you don’t like talking about your past. But what about a game instead? I ask a question and you answer with yes or no. Just that. No explaining, no further questions. I will not ask about it no matter what the answer is.”  
Finally she looked up at him and the Doctor wore a look of contemplation on his face as if he was actually considering her suggestion.  
“I want to get to know you,” Clara said sincerely, “I know you don’t want to tell me things but I would really like a glimpse of you, to understand you. Because. . .,” she paused, “Because I care about you.”  
The Doctor frowned at her for a long moment.  
“Okay,” he eventually agreed, “Let’s do this, but I get to ask questions, too.”  
“Really?” she was genuinely surprised at his answer.  
“Really,” he confirmed, “But I’m starting.”  
He looked at the ceiling for a while but then stared straight at her. “Have you ever lied about being in love with someone?”  
Clara thought about it for a moment. She had truly loved Nina, and the Swedish boy. And when she had told Danny that she loved him she has actually meant it.  
“No,” she replied determinedly, “Have you ever been married?”  
“Yes. Have you ever committed a crime?”  
_Yes._ He had been married. It was her first question and already did she want to ask about it. But she had promised that she wouldn’t.  
About the crime? She had stolen bubble gum from a shop as a teenager. As silly as it was it was a crime. “Yes,” she thought about her next question, “Have you ever slept with one of your muses?”  
“Yes,” he replied with a grimace, “Have you ever made a mistake and regretted it?”  
Clara cocked an eyebrow. “Really? Is there someone on this planet who hasn’t?”  
“Good point. Okay, then,” he paused, his voice growing sad, “Have you ever watched someone die? Not as in lost someone but watched.”  
“No,” Clara replied, “Have you?”  
“Yes.”  
He didn’t ask a new question and Clara could see on his face that whoever he had watched die he saw it happening again right now in his mind.  
“Have you ever thought about kissing me?” she asked to take his mind off the last subject. It was a risky move and she knew it. But Clara wanted to know.  
The Doctor frowned at her. “I believe it’s my turn.”  
Clara smiled sweetly. “I believe you’re avoiding the question.”  
“Clara, I-“ he broke off and sighed in defeat, “Yes.”  
“Are you thinking about it right now?” she asked before he could say anything. Her smile didn’t falter and she kept looking at him.  
“I think you’re missing the point of the game,” the Doctor reminded her.  
It was now or never and Clara knew it, so she leaned forward and pressed her lips on his before she could talk herself out of it. That was all she intended to do. A peck on the lips, an invitation he could accept or decline and she expected him to pull away any second. Yet the touch lingered and slowly, just an inch, the Doctor parted his lips for her. Clara leaned further into the kiss, gently and carefully she traced his tongue with her own. He tasted like coffee, like something forbidden that was extra sweet just because it was off limits. And then the Doctor pulled away, leaving Clara to crave so much more than just that.

“I have a rule about my muses,” the Doctor cleared his throat once he was at a safe distance, “No physical relationships, no hanky panky. It has worked well for many years.”  
“It was just a kiss, Doctor,” she said defensively.  
He glared at her in reply.  
“Why are you being like this? What's with the stupid rule?” Clara asked angrily, “A few minutes ago you said you've slept with at least one of your muses. You said you have thought about kissing me, so what's the problem?”  
“Because sometimes, Clara, things go wrong,” he spat, “You're right. I've had relationships with my muses and if I could turn back time and undo the damage those relationships have done to them, to me, I would.”  
For a moment she was too lost for words to say anything. Clara had known the Doctor probably had a few demons in his past, demons that could explain all of his nightmares, but all she ever did was scratch the surface of what was really troubling him.  
“Clara,” he said calmly after a moment, “I care for you deeply and I mean that. I want you around me but _this_ is not happening and not because I wouldn't or you wouldn't. I need to protect both of us. Just trust me on this – we'll both be happier this way.”  
Again Clara only stared at him, not knowing what to say.  
“Can you do that, Clara?” he asked sincerely, “Can you be my muse and my friend? I need you, more than you could understand but I wouldn't blame you if you decided to leave.”  
“I'm not leaving,” she replied determinedly, “You're the first good thing that has happened to me in years. Nothing's gonna make me leave you.”  
The Doctor smiled at her, a sad expression on his face. “I was afraid you would say that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your sweet comments :)


	16. Chapter 16

They spent the rest of the afternoon mostly in silence, Clara reading her book and the Doctor finishing his painting of her and when they talked it was about simple matters like what they would cook for dinner or what they were going to do the next day.  
The Doctor went to sleep on the opposite end of the bed and Clara was beginning to regret kissing him and ruining the closeness that had come to be between the two of them when he turned over in his sleep and placed his arms around her once more. He didn't want to have these walls around him and Clara was sure that if it weren't for the demons of his past, whatever they were, she would already be more than just a friend to him. Before she closed her eyes to sleep Clara vowed that she would make the Doctor see that she would never hurt him.

 

* * *

 

After packing their luggage for the flight in the evening they both headed out the next day, arm in arm and the Doctor seemed happy to finally be able to show Clara the city. They started with a breakfast in a nice café and the Doctor appeared to be back to normal, acting as if the kiss and the sleepy hug had never happened. After breakfast he showed her the Eiffel Tower with Clara insisting on a selfie of the two of them in front of it to show to her grandmother later.  
“How about I just take a picture of you?” the Doctor suggested.  
“You can do that, too but I want a reminder of us both being here,” she smiled at him and switched on the front camera, taking a picture before he even realized what had happened and giggled when she saw the hilarious outcome.  
“Come on,” Clara laughed, “Take a decent one with me.”  
Finally the Doctor complied and smiled into the camera when she took a picture.  
“There! Wasn't so horrible, was it?” she teased and slid the phone back into her pocket.  
“Wanna go up?” the Doctor asked her.  
Clara looked up at the tall tower and frowned. “No, I think I'm good down here. I really am afraid of heights.”  
“Okay,” he said, “Let's go to Notre Dame then.”

The ride in the taxi didn't take long and soon Clara found herself in front of the massive cathedral with the Doctor standing next to her, humming a slightly familiar melody. She turned around to look at him.  
“What is that?”  
“ _Morning in Paris, the city awakes to the bells of Notre Dame._ ”  
Clara giggled. “You've seen the Disney movie?”  
She wasn't sure what surprised her more. The fact that he had watched it and even remembered the lyrics or the fact that he could sing. The Doctor only shrugged.  
“Amy made me.”  
Suddenly the phone in Clara's pocket rang and she reached for it only to realize that her grandmother was calling her.  
“It's my grandma,” Clara uttered.  
“Well, answer it,” the Doctor told her.

Reluctantly Clara pressed the green button and put the phone to her ear.  
“Hey granny, I told you I'd call as soon as I'm back.”  
“Clara,” her grandmother said gravely, “Your father is in the hospital.”  
“ _What?!_ ”  
“Don't worry, honey, he'll be fine. I just wanted to let you know in case you wanted to go and see him tonight after you come back,” the old woman told her in a calm voice.  
“Why? What happened?”  
“He slipped on the stairs. Don't worry about him, it's all going to be fine. He's at the Royal Hope Hospital, Linda and I are with him. You can visit him when you get home or tomorrow.”  
“Why is he in the hospital?” Clara wanted to know, thinking that if her dad was indeed fine he wouldn't need to be there.  
“We can discuss all of that when you get home, honey. Enjoy Paris, the details can wait!”  
“How can I enjoy Paris when you won't tell me what's wrong?!”  
Her grandmother sighed on the other end of the line. “He broke two lumbar vertebrae when he fell, they're preparing him for surgery as we speak. It's okay, Clara,” her granny said sincerely, “The surgery is standard procedure. They'll fix it with some screws and he'll be fine. He'll have woken up when you land in London and there is nothing you can do in the meantime. So just enjoy Paris, okay?”  
“Okay,” Clara agreed weakly, “I'll see you at the hospital later.”

Once she had hung up she turned towards the Doctor.  
“My dad's in the hospital,” she admitted.  
“Will he be okay?” the Doctor wanted to know.  
Clara nodded. “Grandma says I should enjoy Paris but how can I when I know my dad is having surgery at this very moment?”  
“Well, there is nothing you can do from here, so she's right about that. Our flight leaves in a few hours. Do you want to get back to the apartment or do something else?”  
“What other things did you have planned for today?”  
“The Louvre,” the Doctor told her.  
With a sigh Clara nodded again. “Okay, let's do that then.”  
“I promise, as soon as we've landed in London we'll take the first taxi to the hospital,” he said gently.  
“We?”  
“Uhm, I mean,” he spluttered, “Unless you don't want me there, which is fine. You decide.”  
“I want you there,” Clara admitted.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the day seemed to pass her by and Clara only started to come back to reality when she felt English soil under her feet. The Doctor called them both a taxi to take them to the hospital where she learned that her father had just woken up. Carefully she stepped into the hospital room while the Doctor told her he would wait outside.  
Inside she found her dad lying in the hospital bed, hooked up to all kinds of machines and her grandmother was sitting next to it, smiling kindly at her. Linda was nowhere to be seen.  
“Hey Dad,” Clara smiled at him as she stepped closer, “What on earth did you do this for?”  
He grinned at her but his smile soon turned into a grimace of pain. “Ah, you know, thought I could use some rest. Two weeks just lying here, breakfast in bed, room service, sounds a lot like a holiday to me.”  
“Stop joking,” Clara scolded him as she took a seat next to her grandmother, “This could have ended worse.”

Clara stayed for a while, talking to her father and grandmother about what exactly had happened, what kind of procedure they had performed on him and how long it would take to heal. Apparently Linda had gone home already and Clara wasn't surprised. She had never really liked that woman. Clara hugged her grandmother as soon as she remembered through all of this that today was her birthday and in return her granny promised her a party as soon her father was back on his feet. An hour had passed before they both decided to leave her dad to sleep and headed out of the room to where the Doctor was still waiting.  
“What are you still doing here?” Clara asked in surprise, “You could've gone home.”  
He gave a slight shrug. “I wanted to hear how things went.”  
“It's okay,” she told him, “My dad will be fine.”  
“Clara,” she suddenly heard her grandmother's cheeky voice, “Don't you want to introduce us?”  
It was at this moment that Clara realized how this must look to her grandmother and if she was quite honest she wasn't sure how she was going to explain it to her. Not even Clara knew what exactly she was to the Doctor.  
“Grandma,” she took a deep breath, “This is the Doctor. He teaches the art class I'm attending. Doctor, this is my grandmother.”  
The Doctor smiled courteously and when her grandmother attempted to shake hands, the Doctor took it and kissed the back of her hand like a true gentleman.  
“Oh,” she giggled and threw a wink at Clara, “I like a man with manners.”  
“I should probably go home,” Clara said after a moment, “I'm pretty exhausted.”  
“Do you wanna-?” The Doctor didn't finish his sentence but she knew that he was asking her to come back to his place yet Clara felt that after this weekend she could use some time to herself.  
She shook her head. “I'll call you,” she said kindly.  
“Okay, then,” the Doctor nodded in their direction, “Bye.”

Clara took a deep breath. This weekend had been one of the craziest in her life and between watching the Doctor walk away and watching her grandmother throw her some questioning glances Clara wasn't entirely sure what to make of it all. She needed time to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for you sweet comments :)


	17. Chapter 17

On Friday afternoon Clara had made up her mind. After not seeing the Doctor for a week and only speaking on the phone for a few minutes each day she was sure that he felt something for her that went beyond his normal feelings for a friend and muse and she would do her very best to coax him to admitting it. He had video called her every single night, not asking her to come over to his place but definitely wanting to, looking a little more tired and unshaven each time and but Clara had been determined. She had pretended to be busy with school work and promised him she would come home with him after the art class on Friday. She just knew that there was something between the two of them, something the Doctor was too scared to act upon. Maybe it would help if he missed her a little.  
Clara had just gathered her art supplies and closed the door behind her when her phone rang.  
“Hey, grandma,” she greeted her happily, “What's up?”  
“Well, I was hoping you would tell me that. I was also hoping you'd call me earlier.”  
“About what?”  
“I don't know,” her grandmother said teasingly, “Maybe the man who was at the hospital on Sunday?”  
“Oh, you mean the Doctor. I told you, he is my art teacher,” Clara replied but she knew she didn't sound nearly convincing enough.  
“Really?”  
She sighed in reply. “Grandma, honestly, I'm not sure what the Doctor is. We met at the art class I'm taking and he invited me to his house to paint me and that's basically all we've been doing since. Hanging out, talking, painting.”  
“He took you to _Paris_.”  
“I know, grandma, I know,” Clara replied, “Listen, I have to go. Art class. I'll see you at the hospital on Sunday.”

 

* * *

 

When Clara arrived late in front of the room where the art class usually took place she found a surprise waiting for her. All of the students were standing in front of the closed door, checking their watches and one of them shook his head and angrily trudged off.  
“What's going on?” Clara asked the first student she approached.  
The woman shrugged. “I don't know. The Doctor has yet to show up. We've been waiting for 15 minutes.”  
“Hey!” another one of the students came walking towards them, “I asked at the office. He's not there and they haven't heard of him all day. That's not like him, is it?”  
Clara thought her heart had missed a beat when she heard the news and immediately she started to wonder what the hell had happened to the Doctor to make him miss the one day he was teaching classes.  
“Sorry, guys, I have to go,” Clara said to her fellow students and quickly turned around to leave the building. 

She almost ran all the way to his house and when Clara stepped inside, using the key the Doctor had given her, she found herself standing in front of a strange woman.  
“Who are _you_?” Clara blurted out immediately although now that she was taking a good look at her it became more obvious who this woman was and what she was doing here.  
“I am Carmen, new housekeeper,” the woman said in a friendly tone, her Spanish accent heavy, “You Mrs Smith?”  
“Oh, no, I'm not his wife. Just a friend,” she said, “Where is the Doctor?”  
“Upstairs in studio. Tell him cleaning is finished, please.”  
Carmen threw her another smile before she reached for her coat and closed the front door behind her. Clara was relieved that apparently the Doctor was here and well so she decided to go upstairs. When she entered the studio she spotted him immediately, sitting on the floor, leaning against the sofa. His head had fallen backwards and he was still clutching his sketchbook in his hands. Clara shook her head before she came to kneel next to him.  
“Doctor,” she said gently and reached for his hand. He woke up with a start and needed a moment to realize what had happened. Then he closed his eyes again and groaned.  
“You can't sleep on the floor, Doctor,” Clara told him and took the sketchbook from him to take his hands, helping him up. He fell back on the sofa immediately and when he looked at her Clara decided not to tell him that he had missed his classes today. He really looked like he could use some more sleep.  
“Didn't realize I had fallen asleep,” the Doctor admitted with a weary smile, “Couldn't really sleep last week. I just painted.”

Clara scanned the room and recognized the new paintings, almost all of them being portraits of her. Apparently while she had kept him at arm's length during the last week the Doctor had kept on painting her over and over without taking enough breaks to sleep or to eat.  
“Come on,” she said with a sigh, “Let's get you to bed.”  
“Are you staying?” the Doctor turned to look at her and he seemed a little surprised.  
“Of course I'm staying,” she told him gently and raised her hand to his cheek, cupping it softly, “Someone's gotta look after you.”  
Eventually Clara took his hand and led him downstairs into his bedroom where he promptly fell onto his bed and closed his eyes.  
“Have you eaten today?”  
The Doctor furrowed his brows but his eyes remained shut. “I, erm, I'm not sure.”  
Clara sighed. “I'll go downstairs and get you a little something,” just when she turned around she remembered the housekeeper, “Oh, by the way, Carmen said to tell you she's done cleaning for today.”  
“Carmen?” the Doctor asked, now looking at her.  
“Yes, Carmen, the new housekeeper. I suppose Missy hired her?”  
Clara was met with a blank stare.  
“Try to sleep,” she told him calmly, “I'll get something to eat.”

To her surprise the kitchen was fully stocked, probably thanks to Carmen, and so Clara prepared a small pile of sandwiches, already eating one on her way back upstairs. Yet when she stepped back inside the bedroom the Doctor was already sleeping peacefully. Clara put the plate down on the bedside table and pulled the duvet up to the Doctor's chin. He looked almost happy in his sleep.  
Maybe it had been a mistake trying to keep him at a distance for a while, especially after what had happened in Paris and they had gotten so much closer on a physical level. The Doctor had told her from the very beginning, he had told her he got very attached to his muses, friends, whatever he called it. He had obviously missed her. And if Clara was quite honest she had missed him, too.  
Lifting up the duvet Clara climbed into bed as well and curled up next to him. Without waking up properly the Doctor wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer to his chest.  
“I've missed you, Clara,” he admitted sleepily.  
“I've missed you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your sweet comments :)


	18. Chapter 18

Clara had suspected to wake up with the Doctor's arms still wrapped tightly around her but to her surprise the bed next to her was empty. A glance at the alarm clock told her it was already half past ten in the morning so he decided to get up and look for the Doctor and there was only one place she thought he could be.  
Another surprise awaited her when she didn't find him painting but cleaning his studio. His painting supplies seemed sorted and the newest paintings were neatly stacked up against the wall but the Doctor himself seemed to have cleaned up as well. He had showered, shaved and changed into his favourite holey jumper. He was looking a lot better than he had when Clara had found him the day before.  
“I see you've been busy,” she greeted him.  
The Doctor turned around and a smile spread over his face. “Oh, good morning,” he said happily, “Yeah, I woke up at 8. Decided to clean a little. I also made breakfast but I wanted to wait for you.”  
“ _You_ made breakfast?” she raised an eyebrow, not sure if anything the Doctor had produced was actually edible.  
“Well, I went to the bakery and got some fresh rolls and croissants. Oh, and I checked my mailbox. You were right. Missy indeed found a new housekeeper.”  
“Doctor,” Clara began, her voice grave, “You can't keep doing this. You can't keep neglecting yourself whenever you're alone for a couple of days.”  
“I know-”  
“No, you don't,” she said harshly, “You rely on people looking out for you, on Missy, on me and probably your previous muses, too. And that's not fair. I can't be here all the time and I've told you that from the beginning. I have my job and my friends and my family and I don't want to spend the time I am busy with that worrying whether you'll be okay. I can't sit in class and wonder whether you've slept properly or whether you remembered eating over your paintings. I don't know how Missy can deal with that but I can't.”  
The Doctor gave a slight shrug. “What do you want me to say?”  
“Look at yourself. You look good. Great, actually,” Clara pointed in his direction, “You've slept well last night, you've shaved, showered, you made breakfast. But I get the feeling that you did it all for me and not for yourself.”  
“I _did_ it for you,” the Doctor replied simply, “Cause I thought that's what you wanted.”  
“See? That's exactly the point. You should be doing it all for yourself. You should sleep cause you need it, eat because you're hungry and not because I'm here. Why do you keep doing that? Do you think you don't deserve it? What is it?”  
He stared blankly at her and after a while Clara gave up trying to make him answer her questions.  
“Okay,” she sighed, “Let's forget about it. Let's go downstairs and have breakfast.”  
She turned around to leave when suddenly she felt the Doctor grab her wrist, holding her back. She looked up at him.  
“You're right,” he admitted, “I don't deserve it. And I certainly don't deserve you.”  
Clara smiled weakly at him. “I'm sorry, but I am exactly what you deserve.”  
Quickly she pushed herself up on tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek before he could protest.

 

* * *

 

After Clara had dropped the subject the Doctor became more and more cheerful. They enjoyed their breakfast together, talking about how his week had been, how many new things he had painted and how her father was doing now. Clara managed to convince him to take a walk through the Kensington Gardens because she figured they both needed a bit of fresh air and it was a lovely autumn day. The Doctor suggested he could paint her out here, they just needed to pick a warm enough day to take out the easel and painting supplies and Clara agreed that it was a wonderful idea. They stopped for a cup of coffee and a snack when it was already past noon and resumed their walk, finally heading back into the direction of his house after hours of roaming the park.  
“Do you wanna do the thing we talked about in Paris?” Clara asked him after a while.  
“Uhm, what thing?” he glanced at her, somewhere in between confused and wary.  
Clara giggled. “Painting me in the nude, of course. I know, I'm a bit vain but I'm in my late 20s. I'll never look as good again as I am looking now.”  
“Clara Oswald,” he chuckled, “I doubt you'll ever look any different to me.”  
She nudged him gently as they walked, laughing. “Doctor, this isn't the time to be flirty. Will you do it or not?”  
He stopped in his tracks and stared at her, that flabbergasted look on his face. “I, erm, I wasn't being flirty.”  
“I was kidding,” she said, smiling at him as she took his hand and dragged him along, “Come on.”

“I'll do it,” the Doctor said after a while, “If you like. Paint you in the nude, that is.”  
“Good,” Clara replied, “But first I'll need a bath or a shower and I'm still in yesterday's clothes.”  
He raised an eyebrow at her. “You won't really need clothes.”  
“Oh, you know what I mean,” she sighed and grabbed his arm a little tighter as they walked. 

Eventually they arrived back at his house and Clara headed straight for the bathroom with the starry ceiling while the Doctor said he'd prepare the studio and turn up the heating a little more. After a long and relaxing bath she reached for the bathrobe that was hanging on the rack next to the door and headed upstairs.  
Even though Clara had been keen on this she was now starting to grow a little nervous. The Doctor would be looking at her naked and not just looking, he would be studying her intently while he painted her. She knew that she had nothing to worry about, always having kept her body well in shape but stripping for a man she wasn't sleeping with was not something Clara did regularly. Yet she _wanted_ to sleep with him and that was the whole point of this little exercise.  
The Doctor gave her a shy smile as she stepped into the studio that seemed a lot cosier and warmer than usual, yet he still wore his black jumper with the sleeves rolled up his arms.  
“Okay,” Clara gave a nervous giggled as she came to a stop next to the sofa, “Ready when you are.”  
He took a seat behind the large canvas on his easel. “I'm ready.”  
It was now or never so Clara quickly undid the belt of her robe and let it fall to the floor before she could think twice about it. Taking a deep breath she remained standing there for a moment, giving the Doctor a chance to look at her – which he did.  
For a long time he said nothing at all, just taking in her appearance as she stood there and something about the way he stared at her was reassuring. It wasn't like a painter should look at the naked model, it also wasn't the way a man looked at the woman he desired but then again, this was the Doctor, so the way he observed her was bound to be something new entirely. It was exactly why Clara was drawn to him. He was a mystery to be uncovered and she had just taken the next step towards that.  
“Are you cold?” he asked after a long moment.  
“No,” she replied with a smile, “I'm fine.”

Clara took a comfortable position on the couch as he started to take up his brush and as much as the Doctor was watching her Clara watched him in return. She followed his gaze from the canvas back to her where it lingered sometimes and something about the situation was utterly tantalizing. The Doctor could see her, all of her and Clara couldn't even begin to imagine what must be going on in his mind. Was he thinking about kissing her again? Did he like what he saw? Was he tempted at all by this? Clara had no idea and the uncertainty of it all just made it all the more interesting. 

Suddenly the Doctor put his brush aside, rose from his stool and made a step into her direction, hesitating after that.  
“I’m sorry, Clara,” he said, “Can I?”  
She frowned at him but instead of waiting for her reply he stepped up to her and came to bow down to her, lifted his hand and carefully brushed a strand of hair out of her face. For a moment he said nothing at all and only smiled at her.  
Clara knew she should feel vulnerable, she should feel shame or anything, anything but this. She was sitting in front of him, stripped naked down to her last piece of clothing, for a man she had known for less than two months. There shouldn’t be this naturalness between them, this feeling of belonging however broken they both were and however desperate for each other’s company. Clara knew she should never have come here, knew that she was being pulled into his life because that was what the Doctor did to everyone. She knew right there that it could end badly and she refused to care because the Doctor was all she could ever want. He was adventurous and free in a way that was strange to most people and he was also handsome and she wanted him, every part of him.  
And then she realized he was still smiling at her and it made the butterflies in her stomach go wild.  
“Doctor?” she asked carefully.  
“You are beautiful,” he whispered, his hand still caressing her cheek, “So beautiful, my Clara.”  
Clara didn’t know what compelled her to do it but she raised her own hand above his, leading it away from her cheek to gently move over skin on her neck where his touch tickled slightly until she finally let it come to rest on her breast. When she removed her hand the Doctor’s remained. She could hear him swallow as his fingers grazed her hardened nipple.  
“Clara-“  
“Shhh,” she silenced him even though the coarseness of his voice resounded along her spine, causing her juices to pool hot between her thighs, “Don’t speak. Don’t say a word. Just touch me.”  
Clara could see it in his eyes, she could see that he wanted her because when she looked at the Doctor she found him mesmerised. He didn’t even seem to know where to look first, his gaze lifting and dropping between her face, her breasts and the rest of her as his hands began exploring, not much unlike that afternoon in Paris when he had mapped out her face with his thumb. He seemed to touch every inch of her skin, every bit except the one that was desperate for his caress. Gently he cupped her breasts in both his hands before beginning to squeeze, testing out just how far he could go before she let out a tiny squeak. He moved his palm up just between her breasts, ghosting over the skin on her neck and the spot behind her ear. The Doctor’s face was so close to her own that she could smell his aftershave, hear his excited breathing but he never once kissed her. He only touched and watched as Clara was beginning to squirm beneath him, pressing her thighs together to get that itch under control that was turning into a burning fire between her legs.  
As the Doctor moved down to caress her legs she wondered for a brief moment if he was aroused by this, if he was as aroused as Clara was but his wide plaid trousers gave nothing away. His face however did, his dark eyes did and Clara pictured what he would look like naked, pictured his arousal hard and leaking and ready to dive inside her and she uttered a frustrated moan at the thought of it. The throbbing fire between her legs was burning hot, too hot to bear. Impatiently she parted her legs, reached for his hand once more and led it where it was most needed.  
The Doctor threw her a glance that was somewhere between scared and asking permission. Clara smiled at him reassuringly before she leaned her head back in a moan as he slipped a finger between her folds and dove into her wetness. It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough. She bent her back, pushing her hips up to meet his hand, to increase the friction that could satisfy her itch when suddenly his hand was gone completely.  
Clara was about to open her eyes and mouth to protest when the feeling of his hand was replaced by something else, something hot and wet and she looked down to see the Doctor kneeling in front of her, his head buried deep between her thighs and his tongue was beginning to circle around her clit. Clara sank back into the sofa, her fingers reaching down to anchor in his hair as he was working her with his tongue. She gave another moan as he dipped into her entrance, causing her to move her hips up against his face. Soon she was beginning to lose track of what exactly he was doing, whether his tongue was pressed flat against her or circling or sucking or thrusting. The feeling of it all merged into just one that soon spread over her entire body like a wildfire, having her writhe beneath him, panting and whimpering until she realized that he was only playing with her. Her fingers tightened their grasp in his curls.  
“Please,” she whispered breathlessly, begging him to release her from his sweet torment.  
Then she could feel his hand again, one finger at first and then a second entering her carefully while his tongue was still pressed firmly against her sensitive clit. Clara started rocking against him, whimpering and moaning as he was beginning to speed up. A whole lot of obscenities went through her mind as her orgasm was beginning to build up from the inside, the tension growing with every thrust until finally it came crashing over her and Clara moaned when finally she felt the release she had been craving.

Carefully he withdrew his hand and put some distance between the two of them. Something was going on in his mind, Clara knew it just by the way he was looking at her. This was the moment she had been waiting for ever since she had stepped into his painting class. She wanted nothing more than to grab him by the collar of his jumper and pull him on the sofa with her. She wanted to kiss, to touch him, explore him just like he had just explored her. She wanted to kiss him so much.  
“Clara,” he whispered softly, “You are so, _so_ beautiful like this. God, I wish you could see yourself like I'm seeing you.”  
“Like what?” she asked, still slightly out of breath.  
“So human,” he said and there was a desperation in his voice that she couldn't completely understand, “So utterly human with your messy hair and your flushed cheeks. This is _exactly_ how I want to paint you.”  
Clara watched in confusion as he rose up and walked back to his canvas and she knew that whatever she had thought would happen would definitely not happen now. This was far from the breakthrough she had been hoping for.  
She shook her head, reached for the bathrobe and got up from the sofa, dressing quickly to cover herself. Never in her entire life had she felt anything like this. Even though it had been the Doctor to pleasure her, it was Clara who felt used and ashamed. He didn't see her like that, Clara wasn't sure if he was even capable of that. For him she was only just a muse.  
“Clara?” the Doctor asked, confused and baffled, raising his eyebrows at her.  
“I'm leaving,” she said strictly. She had to get out of here.  
“Why? Is something wrong?”  
Clara snorted. “You really don't know, do you? You have no idea?”  
The Doctor gave a slight shrug, still looking absolutely clueless.  
“You're beyond hope,” Clara spat and rushed downstairs to gather her things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the comments. Now, let's add some fire here :D


	19. Chapter 19

When Clara arrived at home there were no less than seven missed calls on her phone, all from the Doctor and she decided to ignore them. She needed time. She needed to be far away from anything even remotely related to the Doctor. He had used her and insulted her and he would have to come up with one hell of an apology for Clara to even consider going back to being his muse. What she had to do right now was concentrate on her family and her job. The Doctor was not her responsibility and even if he neglected himself while she wasn't talking to him it certainly was not her fault. 

The next morning Clara checked her phone again to find one more missed call and she ignored it along with the rest of them as she got ready to visit her dad in the hospital. Her grandmother was there as well and luckily so was Linda so Clara wasn't asked about the Doctor any further. Two more missed calls when she left her family to go back home. This time however Clara picked up the phone and dialled a number.  
“Hey Amy,” Clara sighed, “Do you have any plans for tomorrow evening?”  
“Oh,” Amy uttered on the other end of the line, “Not yet. What were you thinking?”  
She groaned. “I don't know. Anything. How about a nice bottle of wine at my place?”  
“Did something happen with the Doctor?”  
“Yeah, you could say that,” Clara replied, “Let's talk about it tomorrow. I, erm, I'm still too irritated about it.”  
“Alright,” Amy agreed happily, “Don't worry about it, whatever it is. We'll sort it out. Just text me your address and I'll be there at 7.”  
“Great. Thanks,” Clara said sincerely, “I can't really talk to my friends from school about it. They wouldn't understand.”  
“I get it,” she replied, “Really, I do. I'll see you tomorrow.”

After hanging up Clara realized that it wasn't even 6 p.m. and she had no idea what to do with the rest of her Sunday without the Doctor. All her previous weekends had been entirely devoted to him and she couldn't really remember what she had done before she had met the Doctor. Reading? No, reading was boring. Watching telly? Same thing. With a sigh Clara opened her bag and emptied the supplies she had bought for her painting class on the floor. What was good enough to distract the Doctor would surely distract her as well as he kept calling and Clara kept ignoring her buzzing phone. 

 

* * *

 

On Monday morning the calls had stopped and Clara wasn't entirely sure whether she should be glad or worried. She really didn't want to talk to him but as long as he kept calling at least Clara knew that he was okay. Whenever she caught herself thinking about the Doctor Clara scolded herself internally. He would be fine, Carmen would notice if something about him was off, Missy would probably check in on him, too. And above all: it wasn't her concern and she had made that very clear to the Doctor.  
“You look a bit grumpy today,” Danny's voice tore her from her thoughts.  
Danny. The very last thing she needed right now on top of the pile of things she already didn't need.  
“Well, I _am_ a bit grumpy,” Clara replied and checked her phone again just to avoid looking at Danny. Still no further call from the Doctor.  
“It's not about the art guy, is it?”  
Clara raised her head and stared straight at him. “Danny,” she took a deep breath, “If you value your life you do not talk to me today. I've had a bad weekend, my dad is still in the hospital, I've had a crappy, _crappy_ night and Courtney Woods couldn't shut her mouth for a second during my class just now. I have every right to be grumpy and also to be left in peace.”  
“Okay,” Danny raised his hands in defeat and took a couple of steps back, “Okay, I'll leave you to yourself.”  
“I'm sorry,” Clara called after him with a sigh, “Sorry, I didn't mean to let it all out on you.”  
“It's okay,” he nodded, “Everyone's gotta vent somewhere, especially if Courtney Woods is involved. I'll leave you in peace.”  
“Thanks,” she muttered.

 

* * *

 

Finally the evening had arrived and Clara's doorbell rang and she quickly went to open it. Amy's sympathetic smile immediately lifted her spirits, if only a little.  
“Come on in,” she said with a smile, “Did you get a parking spot in front of the door? I know that's not always easy.”  
“Uhm, you mentioned wine, so I took a taxi,” Amy said as she sat down, “Besides, gotta celebrate my last days of freedom.”  
Clara retrieved two glasses and a bottle from the kitchen before she sank into the sofa cushions next to Amy.  
“Last days of freedom? Does that mean-?”  
Amy grinned at her. “Rory and I are signing the adoption papers for Melody on Thursday. She'll officially be our daughter.”  
“That is wonderful news!” Clara said sincerely, “Do you have a picture?”  
“Of course,” Amy whipped out her phone and opened the picture gallery, showing Clara a sweet portrait of her, a man who looked like he could be her husband and a girl around the age of 4 with a large head of curls.  
“Oh, she is _adorable_. You three look so cute together,” Clara commented, “Listen, if you ever need a babysitter, count me in.”  
Amy laughed. “Careful. We'll take you up on that offer,” she replied and suddenly her features grew a little more serious, “Now, tell me what happened with the Doctor.”  
With a sigh Clara went to open the wine bottle and poured them both a glass before she began telling Amy everything, starting with Paris, the roof, how the Doctor had become a lot more attached to her and how he they had started cuddling at night. She told Amy about the kiss at which Clara earned a gasp and finally everything that had happened the last weekend.  
“ _He went down on you?!_ ” Amy exclaimed, her eyes and mouth suddenly wide open, “The Doctor?”  
“Yeah,” Clara breathed, “Right before he said that was _exactly_ how he wanted to _paint_ me.”  
“We're talking about the same Doctor, right? The painter? Not some physician?”  
“Of course we're talking about the same Doctor,” Clara replied, the annoyance now audible in her voice, “What am I to make of this? He only did it because he wanted to paint my flushed cheeks? That I somehow forced him to do it even though he didn't want to?”  
“Clara, this is the Doctor,” Amy reminded her, “He _only_ does what he wants and he probably got distracted by the way you looked and forgot about the rest.”  
“This is just so _weird_.”  
“Of course he's weird, he's the Doctor. And I'm still having trouble picturing him doing anything even remotely related to sex.”  
“He's slept with at least one muse before this happened,” Clara confessed and took another sip from her glass, “He told me that while we were in Paris. And he said it went wrong.”  
“Did he go into detail?” Amy wanted to know.  
Clara shook her head.  
“Well, it's obvious that you're special to him. More special than I was. The only physical contact he would ever allow to be between us was a fist-bump. Sleeping all cuddled up would have been unthinkable.”  
She sighed. “Even though it makes me feel a little better, I still don't know what I'm supposed to do now. I've been ignoring his calls ever since and I'm not sure how this will go on. I obviously want more from him and he doesn't seem sure what he wants from me or he changes his mind every five minutes or. . . I don't know. There's just so much about him I don't know and I think that if I knew I would understand him better but he blocks off every question. I don't want to spend months or years even hoping that there'll be something when it's all going to be fruitless.”  
“You need to talk,” Amy told her.  
“Yeah, but that's the thing!” Clara said angrily, “He doesn't talk, he just paints.”  
Amy giggled. “Unless he's busy cuddling or going down on you.”  
“Oh, shut up,” Clara said but a moment later she was laughing as well.  
“Was it good at least?”  
“Amy!”  
“What?” she laughed, “If we're going to do girl talk, we've got to do it properly. So spill!”  
Clara smiled mischievously. “Very good.”  
Amy refilled her glass and sank back against the backrest of the sofa. “The Doctor a good lover,” she paused, “Nope, can't picture it.”  
Clara followed Amy's example and leaned back before she took another sip. “I'm still mad at him. I will try to talk to him but not now. I'll call him back next weekend,” she said determinedly, “Let him miss me a bit until he's really miserable.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so, so much for the comments and I am sorry for the distress I am causing :D


	20. Chapter 20

Amy and Clara were in the middle of a conversation about local pre-schools when suddenly the door bell rang. Clara checked her watch and frowned. It was past 10 p.m.  
“Are you expecting someone?” Amy asked her.  
Still frowning Clara rose from the sofa. “No, not really.”  
Of all the people she had expected to see when she opened the door the Doctor had been very low down on that list.  
“Doctor!”  
He looked decent. Not overly tired, not starved, just thoroughly nervous and shifting his weight from one leg to the other.  
“Can I come in?” he asked carefully.  
When she had swallowed the first surprise a very important question began to dawn on her. “How do you even know where I live? Have you been following me? _Stalking_ me?”  
“I, erm,” he hesitated, “You signed up for the class with this address.”  
“Oh,” she uttered.

“Is that the one and only Doctor?” Clara could hear Amy's voice quickly approaching from the living room.  
When the Doctor had been looking nervous before he was now utterly terrified as Amy came walking into the corridor. However as Clara watched the two of them she soon saw a smile appear on both their faces and Amy slowly lifted her hand. Like she had mentioned earlier they greeted each other with a fist-bump.  
“Geronimo,” Amy said, laughing softly.  
“Geronimo,” the Doctor replied, “Good to see you, Amelia. I hope everything's okay at home?”  
She nodded. “Rory and I will officially be parents after Thursday.”  
The Doctor smiled. “Good,” he said, “That's. . . that's good. I'm happy for you.”  
“I should go,” Amy concluded, “It's late. We'll all see each other around, I think?”  
Clara smiled. “Of course we will.”  
The Doctor only nodded. Before Amy reached for her coat and headed out of the door Clara could see her mouth the word “Talk!” and then the door closed behind her, leaving Clara alone with the Doctor.

“Soooooooo,” Clara dragged the word out “You're here.”  
“I tried calling.”  
“I saw,” Clara confirmed before they both fell silent again, standing awkwardly in the corridor.  
“I'm sorry,” the Doctor said ruefully, “I, uh, I think I made a mistake.”  
Clara sighed and nodded. “Okay, that's a start. Go on.”  
He was avoiding her gaze and instead watched his own shoes with a growing interest. “What I did on Saturday, that was probably wrong and I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have let it go that far. I-”  
His sentence was cut off when Clara punched him in the shoulder. The Doctor flinched and raised his hand to where she had hurt him.  
“Ow! Clara! I said I was sorry!”  
Again she punched him.  
“That,” another punch, “was,” and another, “not what you should be apologizing for.”  
When she had stopped hitting him the Doctor finally looked at her and he seemed more confused than ever, causing Clara to utter a load groan.  
“Doctor, I want you!” she said plainly enough for even him to understand, “I am attracted to you and what you did on Saturday was wonderful! I thought it was great and I loved it and I thought this was the first step in the right direction. I _know_ , I know that you said you don't have a physical relationship with your muses but you have to admit that you are kind of giving off mixed signals. So when you did. . . _what you did_. . . I was happy, I was _glad_ that you finally made a move and then you just turned around and resumed painting.”  
The Doctor stared at her for a long moment, frowning.  
“So, you're not mad about _that_?”  
“No, you idiot,” Clara replied desperately, “I was mad that you acted like it never happened, that you didn't kiss me and didn't let me touch you in return. I felt used when you just went straight back to your painting, like that was only a way for you to make me look better on canvas!”  
“I'm sorry,” the Doctor mumbled again, “I'm really bad with emotions. I can't always tell what's going on in someone else's mind.”

Clara took a deep breath and watched the Doctor for a moment. It wouldn't only be rude but also stupid not to accept his apology. It was sincere and he had come all the way to her flat just to get it off his chest as soon as possible and if she was honest Clara had already forgiven him while talking to Amy about it.  
“Doctor, what are we gonna do?” she asked him after a while, “I have feelings for you that go beyond friendship and I think you do, too. Maybe not the way I feel them but in your own, slightly weird way. Ever since the roof incident you've used every possible opportunity to touch and to cuddle when before that you've been too afraid. Don't even deny it.”  
“I,” he paused for a long time, “I've tried having relationships with my muses and every time I've lost more than I gained from them. I'm sick of losing people.”  
“What makes you think you're going to lose me?” Clara asked gently.  
“The roof in Paris,” he gave a shrug, “I thought you were going to fall. I hadn't seen that coming and it scared me how easily you would've dismissed you life that day. Everyone always leaves me.”  
“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I'm the first that won't? Or maybe that you're not the only person who's had his heart broken? I want to take a chance. Do you?”

Another long moment passed without either of them saying anything.  
“Doctor, I think it's time you told me about what happened with the other muses.”  
The Doctor huffed and then he began to laugh. “You were right, Clara. You were absolutely right.”  
“About what?”  
“I _have_ feelings. And I'm scared. Terrified, even,” he admitted, “I fell in love with you the second I saw you and I wanted you around but I wouldn't allow myself to touch you because I knew I'd end up wanting more. I've tried to fight it but when you almost fell I had no choice and then I didn't want to let go anymore but my past is my past and most of the time my fear of repeating it is stronger than anything else.”  
“What happened?” Clara insisted, “Tell me. Now.”  
The Doctor stared at her so long Clara was starting to see the tears in his eyes. His lips were trembling but no words came out.  
“Tell me!”  
“I can't,” he said desperately, “Clara, you're asking me to admit my biggest failure in my entire life. I'll tell you about River, everything you want to know about her but not the rest. I just can't.”  
With a sigh Clara nodded. “Okay,” she finally said, “Here's what we'll do. I'll get ready for bed, I'll make a cup of tea and we'll sit down and you tell me what you want to tell me.”  
The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to. . . stay over night?”  
She shrugged in reply. “We’ve shared a bed at your place and in Paris. I don’t see why this should be any different.”  
“Yeah,” he breathed, “I suppose you’re right.”

 

15 minutes later Clara had changed into her cosy pyjamas, brushed her teeth, tied her hair into a bun and handed the Doctor a cup of tea. She lifted the duvet to crawl under it and join the Doctor who had already made himself comfortable in her bed.  
“Your bedroom is nice,” he noticed.  
“No,” she warned him, “No diversions. You wanted to tell me about River.”  
He looked away and set the tea down on the bedside table. Clara waited until he turned back towards her, still appearing just as troubled as he had standing in the corridor, apologizing to her.  
She was ready for him to start talking, whether about his past or any random subject. What Clara wasn’t prepared for was the Doctor leaning forward, cupping her face in his hand and locking their lips together in a kiss. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to enjoy it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments and I am sorry for the torture :-D


	21. Chapter 21

Clara felt as if she was still dreaming. She was lying in bed, the Doctor’s arms wrapped around her protectively and he was properly cuddled up against her. It was like it had been back in Paris, only this time she knew that they both felt the same thing and it was more beautiful than she could have ever imagined. The Doctor was awake already, or half awake judging by the sloppy kisses he was leaving along the line of her neck. Clara sighed dreamily as he pulled her closer, pressing himself harder against her.  
“Good morning,” she whispered happily.  
“Mhhhh,” he murmured against her neck, “My Clara. My beautiful Clara.”  
It was at this moment that she realized they hadn’t actually talked about anything the previous night. Clara still didn’t know a thing about his past but instead she knew exactly how his lips tasted and how his chest felt under her palm that she had slipped beneath his shirt and how fast his heart had been beating at her touch. The memory of it alone was enticing but now she could feel the Doctor’s hand wandering south and passing the waistband of her pyjama bottoms. Behind her he was slowly beginning to grind against her arse. His kisses were becoming more distinct and his fingers were rubbing softly against her clit, making her want to push up against them. For someone who had been trying to stay far away from touching her the Doctor was now doing a very good job at making her fall apart underneath his touch.  
“Doctor,” she hummed, still a little sleepy. She felt like she was caught up in an erotic dream, the kind that came in half sleep and could make the dreamer squirm in the sheets. “Do you want to-?”  
“Mh-mh,” he replied and Clara realized that the Doctor hadn’t woken up properly either. 

Clara turned around in his embrace and he looked at her through hooded eyes before he lowered his lips to her own, kissing her bruisingly and climbing on top of her. She decided that “mh-mh” had apparently meant “yes”. Reaching for the hem of his jumper she grabbed it and pulled it over his head. The kiss broke for a moment and Clara thought she could see a flicker of fear in the Doctor’s eyes when they opened.  
“Undress me,” she told him sweetly, “Make love to me. Please. Don’t be scared.”  
He didn’t speak as they discarded of their clothing, throwing them thoughtlessly on her bedroom floor until they were both completely naked. The Doctor had already seen her naked but he still looked at her as if he had never laid eyes on a woman before. Clara knew this look on the face of a man but coming from the Doctor, who had probably been with a lot of women and had seen and painted some most certainly more beautiful than her, it meant the world to Clara. And seeing him like this for the first time proved to be everything she had expected and more. He was lean and pale, a few silver hairs spread over his chest and he was quite a nice size, to say the least. He was already hard and she couldn’t wait to feel him, the sight of him making her tingle in just exactly the right places.  
Clara leaned forward to kiss him again, her hand reaching behind his head to pull him down on top of her as she sank back into the pillows.  
The Doctor was careful when he moved inside her, giving her a moment to get used of the feeling of him as he filled her up. Clara smiled at him reassuringly, knowing that she had waited for this moment since the first time they had met and it had been well worth the wait. He was so gentle in everything he did, kissing her, caressing her skin with his lips, moving in and out of her at a slow speed that was soon proving to be agonizing. Wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips she invited him in deeper, pushing her hips up to meet his rhythm.  
As it turned out the Doctor was as enduring as he was gentle, keeping his pace as he moved and apart from a few quiet moans he never made a sound or spoke. Yet Clara was soon squirming beneath him because each time he pushed inside her he kept brushing that sweet spot but never quite hitting it hard enough for her to come. She gasped, bending her hips upwards to counter his movements. He never went faster or harder, he didn’t even seem anywhere close to the finish line and it was beginning to drive her mad as the pleasure was building up inside her more and more, filling the glass drop by drop but never quite spilling over. Then finally he lowered his hand between them, brushing over her clit with his thumb and Clara pressed against it to increase the pressure as he rubbed against her. It was wonderful and thrilling and unlike any other time she had been with a man and she couldn’t understand why the Doctor was holding back, why he didn’t give it all and fucked her until she was completely numb. This slowness was beginning to be frustrating until she could feel it. It felt as if tiny sparks were going off inside her, spilling to the outside until she couldn’t hold back anymore and buried her fingernails in his skin and a moan came over her lips as she came. 

The Doctor paused but not for long. She didn't even have the time to come down from her orgasm as he turned her over and Clara found herself on all fours with the Doctor right behind her, his crotch pressed against her arse as he drove inside her. This time it wasn’t gentle. She tried to find something to hold on to besides the pillows, grabbing a bar in her headboard as he started thrusting inside of her. The Doctor was panting as his hands grabbed her hips, pulling them down on his cock at an increasing speed. She tried in vain to supress her moans as he plunged into her, filling her up over and over again, the slight soreness and the feeling of her last orgasm only adding to the sensation. A groan coming from his lips told her that he was close and she purposefully tightened herself around him at which his thrusts only grew harder and more determined. However shy and held back he had been before it was now forgotten as he moaned and uttered her name in his fully aroused state. The Doctor had her whimpering soon enough as one thrust hit particularly deep and she could feel the heat rising inside her again. His movements were starting to become uncoordinated, hitting her deeper and harder each time as he moaned behind her and he dragged her over the edge with him. Her muscles clenched around him in her climax right as she started feeling him spill himself inside her. 

The Doctor fell back onto the bed, groaning and gasping for breath as Clara rested next to him.  
“God, we’re lucky I don’t have to be in school until the third period,” she panted, “That was amazing. That was. . .”  
She blew the breath out between her lips when she failed to think of a better word but then Clara noticed that the Doctor had gone quiet next to her. When she turned to look at him he wore a thoughtful expression on his face.  
“Is everything alright?”  
He smiled weakly at her. “When I met you I swore to myself I wouldn’t do this. Seems like this is another failure to add to my long, long list.”  
Clara giggled. “If _this_ was a failure I _really_ want to know what you think success looks like.”  
She only earned a stern look for her comment.  
“Doctor, this wasn’t a mistake. I wanted this, you said last night that you wanted it, too. And don’t start with the _I don’t date my muses_ crap again unless you’re willing to tell me what that is all about,” she said seriously.  
“I don’t suppose I can convince you to pretend like this never happened?”  
“Damn right,” Clara confirmed strictly, “Cause I’m definitely planning on doing this again and I am planning on sticking around. You’re not getting rid of me so you might as well tell me what you wanted to tell me last night.”  
“Don’t you have school?” he asked hopefully, trying to change the subject.  
“Third period. We’ve got two hours. Tell me. Who was River?”  
The Doctor took a long, deep breath, hesitating before he spoke.

“I met her when I was about your age. She was my muse and my lover, the first woman to combine both things and I thought I couldn’t be happier. We lasted for years, even got married when we travelled to India together. It was never legal but for me she was my wife. She travelled a lot, sometimes I travelled with her. Until I found out I was only one out of many.”  
The Doctor stopped, making Clara ponder his statement for a moment.  
“What does that mean?” she asked him eventually.  
“That she was already legally married, a sheikh of some sort. He was financing her entire life and when River told me she had only married him for the money and the opportunity it brought I almost forgave her. Then I found out about her _wife_ in America.”  
“Her _what_?” Clara couldn’t stop herself, “I thought she was married to a sheikh!”  
“Her wife was part of a hippie commune, the marriage wasn’t valid, just like ours wasn’t. I don’t even know how many others there were.”  
“Did you ever talk to her about it?”  
“I did, in fact. I told her I didn’t want to be one of many.”  
“And what did she say?”  
“Not much, actually,” the Doctor sighed, “Only that they were all part of who she was. I didn’t expect her to change. And she died shortly after we went our separate ways. An archaeological expedition gone wrong. I made a vow to myself then. I wouldn’t have a relationship with one of my muses ever again because losing a muse is one thing and so is losing a wife or girlfriend. But both almost drove me insane. I destroyed every painting, every sketch of her. If you asked me now I couldn’t even tell you what she looked like. I only remember the lesson it taught me.”

Clara reached out and took his hand into her own, squeezing it softly. She meant it as a comfort although she wasn’t sure why this could still weigh so heavy on his heart after such a long time.  
“Did you try again?” she asked quietly, “With another muse?”  
The Doctor swallowed hard. “Yes but I don’t want to talk about her. If you knew you would never look at me the same way again.”  
Clara was sure that eventually he would tell her. It had taken him a while to start opening up to her and once she could make him see that she wouldn’t leave or hurt him the Doctor would surely tell her about the rest as well.  
She leaned forward and pressed a long, soft kiss to the corner of his lips. “Thank you,” she said sincerely, “Thank you for telling me, for trusting me. You won’t regret it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so, so much for the comments. And I guess you're all happy now? :D


	22. Chapter 22

"What do you want for breakfast?" Clara asked when she stepped from the shower back into her bedroom and to her surprise she found the Doctor already dressed and looking like he was about to leave, "Or don't you want to stay for that?"  
He looked at her for a moment, apparently unsure of what to say next.   
"I could make pancakes," she suggested, "You like them, right? Or I've got some ready made croissants in the freezer. They could be ready in 10 minutes. And jam. I've got jam, too."  
The Doctor gave her a weak smile.   
"No," Clara said sternly, raising her finger at him as she stepped closer, "Don't you dare back out now! You said you had feelings for me, I told you I'm not leaving and I certainly don't have a couple of husbands in different countries so you can stop that right now and give us a chance!"  
"Clara," he said calmly, "I'm not backing out. I'm really not. I want to be with you. I just need some time to think."  
"You can think over breakfast," she told him.  
"Don't take this the wrong way, Clara, please," the Doctor almost whispered, "You know I'm difficult, you know I struggle with basic things that most people don't even think about twice. This has nothing to do with you, or us. It's just me. I need to sort myself out. Alone. You can come to my place after school if you want to but right now I just need a bit of time to myself."  
Clara took a deep breath. "Okay," she finally said, "But you and me, we're good, right? I didn't do anything wrong?"  
He shook his head. "No, not you."

 

The Doctor left her with an odd feeling that something was definitely not okay but Clara couldn't quite put her finger on it. Maybe it had to do with the other muse that he wasn't telling her about, maybe he was really just confused about everything that had happened lately but whatever it was it had Clara thinking about it all day. She couldn't concentrate on anything else, not even Courtney Woods continuously disrupting her class was bothering her.   
Finally when she had finished her classes Clara went straight back home to grab a change of clothes before she headed to the Doctor's house. Then she saw the blinking light on her answering machine. She walked up to it and pressed the button.  
“Hello Clara,” her grandmother's voice said, “You're probably still at work so I'm just leaving this message to tell you that your father is gonna be released from the hospital tomorrow. We decided to all get together at your father's and Linda's house for tea on Saturday. I hope you can make it, and. . . if you want to you can bring that art teacher. Hope to see you on Saturday. Bye.”  
Clara smiled and shook her head. She had never been good at hiding things from her grandmother. Her father and Linda were one thing but her grandma was always able to figure her out. She had been the only one in her family to know about Nina and it seemed that now she had picked up on the thing between her and the Doctor as well. Clara wasn't sure if he would even want to come with her on Saturday, if maybe it was too early for that but she would ask him – if only to see his reaction. She grabbed the bag holding her change of clothes and headed out of her apartment. 

 

When the Doctor didn't answer the doorbell Clara used her key to step inside the house only to find it empty. The Doctor wasn't in his studio or any of the rooms and Clara figured he had gone out to run some errands. What she found however was the door to the attic ajar and even though she had tried calling his name and there had been no reply she went to check it out.   
The attic wasn't much different from the rest of the house, except that it wasn't filled with paintings _entirely_. There was some old furniture stacking up and boxes with discarded things that the Doctor obviously didn't need anymore but couldn't just throw out. One thing caught Clara's attention most of all. A painting of a young, pretty woman positioned in front of a chair as if he had spent quite some time looking at it and Clara could understand why. The woman was beautiful and the way she laughed in this particular picture seemed contagious and yet there was a sadness hidden away in her eyes that made Clara wonder how she could've smiled like that at all.   
She decided not to snoop around any more. If the Doctor had wanted her to see this he would have showed it to her and so Clara went back downstairs and prepared herself a cup of coffee before she began working on her markings. 

An hour passed and Clara was starting to wonder where the Doctor could have gone. It was him who had told her to come by after work so she had assumed he would be home. But then again, that was probably why he had given her a key in the first place.

Two hours passed and her doubts were starting to turn into worry. Clara tried calling him on his phone only to realize that he had left it in his studio and the ringing resounded in the very room she was sitting in.

After three hours had passed and Clara still hadn't heard from or seen the Doctor she grabbed her phone and headed downstairs to the kitchen. A few phone numbers were stuck on the fridge door and she soon found the one that had “Missy” spelled out on top of it. Quickly she dialled the number.  
“Hello Missy, it's Clara,” she greeted her immediately.  
“Ohhh, the _muse_. Hello Clara, what can I do for you? Is something wrong with the Doctor?”  
“You could say that,” she replied nervously, “I don't know where he is. He wanted to meet me at his house and he's not here. I've been waiting for over three hours. And he's left his phone at home. I thought he may be at the gallery?”  
“No, he's not here,” Missy said warily and Clara didn't like the tone in her voice at all.  
“I know, I'm being silly,” Clara blurted out, “But I'm a little worried about him. I have no idea where he could have gone and he's never stood me up before.”  
“Did something happen?” Missy inquired and again the tone of her voice was odd, like she somehow knew exactly what had gone down between the two of them.  
Clara hesitated.  
“Did you, by any chance, sleep together?”  
“I, uh,” she spluttered, no idea how to reply to that except with the truth, “Yeah.”  
She could hear Missy sigh on the other end of the line. “And did he say something to you afterwards?”  
Clara shook her head. “No, not really. Just that he needed some time to himself.”  
Missy let out a groan in annoyance. “Alright. Clara, you can stop worrying. I know where he is. I'll send him home.”  
“What? Where is he?” Clara wanted to know, “Is everything alright with him?”  
“Don't worry, Clara. He's just being the Doctor, as always. He's fine. . . ish. He'll be home soon, I'll just give him a whack across the head. Might help if you prepared a cooling pack for that.”  
“ _What?_ ”  
“I was joking. Thanks for the call. I'll see you around,” Missy said and a second later Clara could here the monotonous beeping on the other end of the line.   
She was now more confused than ever but if she believed Missy the Doctor was fine at least and soon on his way home to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you for all your comments :) They really make my day, you know?


	23. Chapter 23

Like Missy had promised her the front door opened just thirty minutes later and the Doctor stepped inside the kitchen where Clara was just having a cup of tea. He looked sad, like he had been crying, and very, very weary when he came to a halt next to the kitchen sink.  
“I see Missy brought you home,” Clara commented, not knowing what else to say.  
“Yeah,” he took a deep breath, “She also said I was being an idiot.”  
“Can't argue with that.”  
There was a long pause in which the Doctor shuffled his weight from one foot to the other and neither of them really knew what to say. It was the Doctor who eventually broke the silence.  
“I'm sorry,” he uttered, “I didn't mean to hurt you or to push you away. I really just needed a bit of time to myself. To understand what has happened. So I went for a little walk.”  
“A _little_ walk?” Clara raised her eyebrows.  
“Thanks for calling Missy,” the Doctor said sincerely, “I had completely lost track of time. We talked for a bit and she said I wasn't being nice to you. I want to apologize for that.”  
Clara nodded slowly.  
“I'm trying to change that cause I really want us to have a chance. Even if you didn't get the impression.”  
“Okay,” Clara replied softly, “I believe you.”  
“But you have to promise me one thing, Clara. You have to promise me that you will be honest with me. When something is bothering you I need you to tell me. Whether it's about us or just you, if anything at all is wrong, please, you need to let me know. I want to make this right but I can't always tell what's on someone else's mind.”  
“I can do that,” Clara confirmed, “If you'll do the same.”  
“Clara-”  
“I'm not asking about your previous muses,” she gave him a weak smile. Clara knew that he would tell her eventually but that it would take time and from what she had learned so far she knew it couldn't possibly be that bad. There was still time for that later, “But there is one thing I would like to know.”  
The Doctor raised his eyebrows.  
“How come you and Missy are still such good friends? I'm not judging you, I just want to understand because I couldn't ever imagine being so close to an ex. She must know an awful lot about you.”  
Clara gave a shy, insecure laugh and looked up.  
“Missy knows everything about me and she's more than just an ex. Love or sex was never what really connected us, that just happened. Missy saved my life.”  
“How so?”  
“Quite literally,” he smiled at her.  
She was about to open her mouth and speak when suddenly the Doctor took another step in her direction but stopped.  
“Can I-,” he hesitated, “Clara, can I hug you?”  
“You don't need to ask that,” she replied kindly, “Of course you can.”

Clara rose from her chair and spread her arms wide and a few moments later the Doctor hugged her tightly, burying his face in her shoulder and to her it felt as if he never planned on letting go again.  
“I wasn't sure,” he admitted.  
“Well, general hugging permission granted,” she joked and squeezed him a little more tightly.  
Suddenly his arms were gone from around her waist and the Doctor looked right at her, his hands cupping her face.  
“What about a kissing permission?”  
She smiled at him. “Also granted.”  
He lowered his head until their lips brushed against each other, careful and reluctant at first before the kiss deepened. If Clara hadn't believed his words before she now knew that the Doctor was serious about everything he had said. The rest would surely fall into place as well.  
When their lips parted again Clara found him smiling dreamily.  
“Hey, how about we make some dinner and then go upstairs and you can work on your paintings?” she suggested.  
“I like the idea.”  
A smirk spread over her face. “And, well, if you want to paint me with flushed cheeks we could work on that, too.”  
Clara uttered a small noise of surprise when suddenly he kissed her again and she smiled against his lips. Yes, the rest would fall into place just fine.

 

* * *

 

Clara rested her head on his bare chest, her breathing still a little ragged from the exercise as she wrapped her arms around him.  
“You know, you could leave some of your things here. If you like. Clothes or. . . you know,” the Doctor suggested, “So you don't have to run home to change before school when you spend the night here. There's a completely empty closet in the guest room.”  
“Moving fast, mister,” she giggled against his skin before she left a kiss on his chest.  
“Or not,” he quickly said, “If you think it's too fast, then-”  
“I'll get some of my clothes tomorrow,” Clara confirmed, “You're right. Even before _this_ I've been spending a lot of time here.”  
She felt him kiss her head in reply before he sank back into the pillows, still holding her in his arms.  
“But speaking about moving fast,” Clara began, “My grandma's birthday was the weekend we went to Paris and since my dad ended up in the hospital they haven't properly celebrated. She invited me over for tea on Saturday and she said I could bring the nice man who had accompanied me to the hospital. I haven't told her anything about us. Really, I haven't. She just knows me very well and I think she picked up on a few things when she saw you.”  
Suddenly she could feel the Doctor stiffen beneath her touch and she knew what would come out of his mouth before the actual words were spoken.  
“I'm not really good with family things. Trust me, they wouldn't like me.”  
“You haven't even met them,” Clara raised her head to look at him, “And as for my grandma, she likes you already. Otherwise she wouldn't have invited you.”  
He took a deep breath.  
“You don't have to come if you absolutely don't want to. I know it's pretty soon but I thought I should ask you since grandma has already suggested it. I would really like you there and I think that you would get along well with at least my grandmother.”  
“It's been a while since I've interacted with. . . families,” the Doctor admitted after a moment, “And I can't say I'm really good at it. I don't want your family to hate me and I think the easiest way to make sure of that is for me to never meet them.”  
“Don't be silly, they won't hate you,” Clara tried to reassure him, “Hey, just think about it. Like I thought about Paris for a few days. I would love for you to come but if you say no I won't hold it against you. Okay?”  
He sighed and looked at her. “It would mean a lot to you, right?”  
“You don't have to do it just to please me.”  
“I'll do it,” the Doctor finally said, “Not just to please you. Your family means a lot to you, so I should get to know them. And it's just tea, right?”  
“Just tea,” Clara confirmed.  
“Good,” he said and kissed her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the comments, babes :)


	24. Chapter 24

“Are you _nervous_?” Clara giggled as she noticed the Doctor shifting next to her after she had rung the doorbell.  
“Are you kidding me? Of course I am,” he spat before he took a deep breath, “I'm about to meet your family.”  
Gently she reached for his hand and squeezed it in her own. “It's just tea,” Clara tried to reassure him, “It'll all be fine.”  
The next moment the front door opened and the Doctor instinctively let go of her hand when her grandmother appeared in the doorway, wearing her brightest smile on her face.  
“There you are,” she said happily, “Come on in!”  
Clara stepped inside, followed by a reluctant Doctor who turned towards her grandma as soon as they were in the living room. Her father and Linda apparently hadn't arrived yet and so the Doctor handed over the wrapped present he was holding under his arm.  
“Clara told me that it was your birthday a few weeks ago. I'm sorry that I stole Clara away for that weekend and I hope I can make up for that with this.”  
“Oh, thank you,” her grandmother said kindly, “But that weekend didn't really go according to plan anyway – you have nothing to worry about.”  
Clara had no idea what the Doctor had prepared for her grandmother and when she unwrapped her present Clara recognized one of the portraits he had painted of her. A simple one, showing Clara standing by the large window with a cup of coffee in her hand and a hint of a smile on her face.  
“Oh, that is beautiful,” her grandmother uttered happily, “Thank you very much. I know just the place to hang this.”  
Her grandmother turned towards the wall and held up the painting, trying to see how it would fit when the doorbell rang again before Clara even had the chance to give her grandmother her present.  
“That'll be your father and Linda. Could you get that for me, please?”  
The Doctor threw Clara a horrified glance but she only smiled in reply and left him alone with her grandmother to greet her father. He was still walking on crutches and Clara hugged him only gently before leading them both into the living room where the Doctor was now sitting on the sofa, looking utterly uncomfortable.  
“Soooo,” Clara took a deep breath, “Dad, Linda, this is the Doctor. I don't know if grandma has already mentioned him. We met at the painting class I'm taking.”  
The Doctor rose from the sofa again to greet her parents who didn't seem surprised at all by his presence. So her grandmother _had_ told them and she wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. Suddenly Clara felt a hand on her arm.  
“Clara, dear, could you help me prepare the cake in the kitchen?” her grandmother asked her kindly but there was something odd about her voice that she couldn't quite place.  
Throwing the Doctor an apologetic look she followed her grandmother into the kitchen. 

“So, how long have you two been together?” she asked Clara as soon as they were alone.  
This wasn't about helping with the cake, this was an interrogation – and this time she couldn't just hang up or run away.  
“It's recent. Very recent,” Clara replied and reached for a knife to busy herself with cutting the cake.  
“He is a good man, though, isn't her?” her grandma asked further, “He treats you well?”  
“Grandma-”  
“I just want to know, dear. You've always told me about the men in your life. That crazy Swedish boy, the teacher you were dating for a while. I'm just worried because you haven't mentioned him at all. And also – _the Doctor_ – what sort of name is that?”  
“His name is John Smith, if you need to know. The Doctor is just what he calls himself in the art world. It's like a nickname.”  
“Danny called me,” her grandmother said, her voice grave.  
“ _What?!_ ” Clara blurted out. What was wrong with that guy to call her family and stick his nose where it had absolutely no business? “What did he do that for?”  
Her grandma sighed. “He is worried about you. He said you completely dropped off the face of the earth since you met the Doctor. You're not going out with your friends anymore and he said you're very distracted in school. He thinks it's because of the Doctor and frankly, he started worrying me, too. I've hardly heard from you since you started that painting class.”  
“Danny isn't worried,” Clara said, more loudly than she had intended to, “Danny is jealous! He still isn't over us and so he's trying to sabotage my new relationship! Have you considered that _he_ might be the reason I'm not going out with the other teachers anymore?”  
“That doesn't explain why you've never called or visited in the past few weeks.”

“Is that true?”  
Clara shot around to see the Doctor standing in the doorway. She wasn't sure what exactly he had heard but it seemed to have been enough.  
“Clara, we love you and we just want to make sure you're not making a mistake,” her grandmother said calmly.  
She turned back towards her grandma. “This wasn't a nice invitation for tea,” Clara said angrily, “This is an interrogation. Or an intervention. Either way, you can save your breath. I am fine and I'm leaving.”  
Clara darted out of the room, grabbed her jacket and left the house without saying another word, only vaguely aware of the Doctor uttering apologies behind her back and eventually trailing after her.

 

* * *

 

They sat down in a small café not far from her grandmother's house and Clara was still furious, even after the walk and ranting about Danny almost all the way. She just couldn't believe her family had done something like this, especially her grandmother. And above all she was mad at Danny for calling them when he had absolutely no right to do that.  
“Doctor, I am so, _so_ sorry,” Clara apologized again, “I had no idea it would be like this.”  
“Yeah, they're not exactly wrong though, are they?” he spat, “Clara, I told you it was important that you're spending time with your friends and your family. I had no idea.”  
“I _am_ spending time with them,” she replied defensively, “It's just been a few crazy weeks, that's all.”  
He sighed.  
“Doctor, I am serious about this. I've even made a new friend, all thanks to you. And frankly, my colleagues from school bore me to death. You can't be mad at me for not spending time with people I don't really like.”  
“I'm not mad, it's just-” his sentence broke off when he raised his head but the Doctor didn't look at her. He looked right past her and an expression of horror crossed his face.  
“Doctor, what's wr-”  
“ _You!_ ” a woman shouted behind her and just when Clara was about to turn around to see who it might be the woman had appeared next to their table. It was one of the waitresses of the café, a blonde woman around 50 and she seemed angry. Furious even.  
“You have some nerve showing your face in here!”  
“I'm sorry,” the Doctor apologized immediately. Clara thought she had never seen him so startled before, “I, uhm, I didn't know you work here. I'm sorry. We'll leave.”

When the Doctor was beginning to rise from his chair and Clara was still a little baffled as to what was happening the woman turned to face her.  
“New muse, huh?” she asked angrily, “You watch out, girl!”  
“Jackie, please,” the Doctor begged her quietly, “Let's not cause a scene.”  
“Not cause a scene, eh?” the woman apparently named Jackie shouted at him, “Why? Cause you're ashamed? Cause you know you're guilty? _Because you killed my daughter?!_ ”  
This time the Doctor didn't reply anything and the woman spoke directly to Clara again.  
“If you're smart you'll pack your bags and leave him before he kills you, too.”  
She could feel the Doctor's hand carefully wrapping around her own.  
“I'm sorry, Jackie. I really, _really_ am,” he told her in a weak voice.  
“Yeah, you keep saying that,” the woman yelled, “But your apologies won't give me my daughter back!”  
“Come on, Clara,” he said in a low voice, obviously trying very hard to remain calm even though his hand was shaking, “We're leaving.”

He half dragged her out of the café and it seemed as if he was taking his first breath in minutes as soon as they were outside. The Doctor looked devastated and very eager to leave this place behind but Clara had no intention of just letting it go.  
“Doctor, what happened in there? Who was that woman?” she demanded to know, “What happened to her daughter?”  
“Please,” the Doctor begged, “Please, don't ask. I can't talk about her.”  
He let go of her and buried his face in his hands. If he had been devastated before the Doctor was now looking desperate.  
“Did you really kill her?”  
Finally the Doctor looked back at her through his tears. He was crying and there were so many emotions in his expression that Clara couldn't tell what he would do next. She just saw his guilt, his shame, his grief and his fear.  
“I'm sorry,” he whispered, “But Jackie is right. You should leave me while you still can. Before I kill you, too.”  
And then, with no further warning, the Doctor just turned around and started walking away and for once Clara lacked the energy to go after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the sweet comments :) And I'm sorry.


	25. Chapter 25

Clara took a deep breath, trying to understand what had just happened while the Doctor vanished around a corner. Her family didn't want them to be together, the Doctor had technically just broken up with her over the question of having killed a woman. He had admitted it, hadn't he? _Before I kill you, too._ That was a confession and it seemed like it was all Clara was going to get. He would never talk about it, that's why Clara turned around on her heels and headed straight back into the café. If the Doctor didn't think she deserved the truth, maybe Jackie did.  
“Tell me what happened!” Clara said in a calm but determined voice when she came to a halt in front of the waitress.  
“Why don't you ask _him_?” Jackie spat back at her.  
“Because he's the Doctor. He's ashamed and he feels guilty. I know that something happened, I'm not stupid. He doesn't want to talk about it but I think it's on his mind constantly. I think this has to do with the paintings of a young, blonde woman because she resembles you. And the Doctor keeps them hidden but he's looking at them from time to time as if to remind himself of something. She's your daughter and she died – but how? What happened?”  
The woman stared back at her for a long time but Clara could see the façade of anger slowly dropping off her face and being replaced by grief.  
“Rose Tyler,” Jackie said slowly, “Her name was Rose Tyler.”  
She nodded in the direction of the corner where there were several computers meant for public use. “She was all over the news. I'm sure you will find what you need to know.“

Clara nodded thankfully and when Jackie remained silent she turned around and approached one of the computers. Opening the browser she entered the search words “Rose Tyler London” and like Jackie had promised quite a few newspaper articles from seven years ago popped up. Clara opened the first one she found.

_The body of a young woman who has been identified by the police and her family as Rose Tyler (21) was pulled from the Thames late on Tuesday evening by her partner, a local artist, who is still being treated in the hospital. Eye witness accounts stated that the woman had jumped off the bridge on her own account and there are no indicators that a crime has been committed._

Clara clicked through several other articles, all telling the same story. Rose had jumped off the bridge and although the Doctor had tried to save her it had been too late. Clara thought she now finally understood. Obviously Rose had been a muse and his girlfriend as well and he was still feeling guilty about what had happened to her. When the memories of Paris came back to her Clara suddenly started to feel sick. She couldn't even imagine what must have been going through his mind that evening, all the memories it must have brought back. She needed to talk to him.  
After closing all tabs Clara rose from the chair and approached Jackie Tyler one more time.  
“I'm sorry for your loss,” Clara said sincerely, “I didn't know about Rose. I'm sorry. I'll leave you in peace now.”  
Jackie nodded calmly. “The Doctor may not have pushed her off that bridge but I can't help but think that she would still be with me today had she never met that man. Please, take care of yourself. You're a young woman, I'm sure that there are people who care about you. I wouldn't want them to have to go through the same thing.”  
“I will,” Clara whispered before she turned to leave.

 

* * *

 

Clara entered the studio quietly and for once she didn't find the Doctor painting. Instead he was staring at a blank canvas and it seemed as if that was all he had been doing since he had returned home.  
“Doctor?” she asked quietly.  
He looked up at her and quickly away, closing his eyes as if he was in pain.  
“Doctor, I talked to Jackie,” Clara explained before he even had the chance to send her away again, “I know about Rose. I know you didn't want me to know about her. You said I would never look at you the same way if I did but I know now and. . . I think I understand.”  
“No,” he said calmly.  
Clara instantly jerked back when the Doctor jumped up from his seat and kicked the easel in front of him, sending the canvas to fly straight across the room.  
“No, you don't understand! You don't even have an idea!” the Doctor shouted at her.  
She swallowed hard, frightened at his sudden outburst. “Enlighten me then,” Clara told him, her voice wavering, “Please, Doctor. Just tell me. What have you got to lose now?”

The Doctor stumbled backwards and eventually sank down to the floor, leaning his back against the sofa, looking so small and so lost that Clara couldn't help herself. She approached him carefully and knelt down next to him, cupping his face in both her hands so he had to look her in the eyes.  
“Doctor, these demons, these nightmares, they'll never go away unless you actually let them out. I love you and I want to help you. Whatever happened seven years ago, it's standing between us,” she whispered quietly, “Don't you see that?”  
He didn't reply for a long time but his gaze remained fixed on her eyes.  
“It was all my fault,” he admitted, “Rose was in trouble and I didn't see it. I don't want to make the same mistake again, Clara. I'm better off alone. That way I can't hurt anyone.”  
Clara sighed and let go of his face to take his hand in her own. “You mean you can only hurt yourself.”  
“Same thing.”  
“No,” Clara replied determinedly.  
She sat down next to him and wrapped her hands around his arm, leaning her head against his shoulder.  
“You are absolutely _not_ better off alone. You need someone, you've always needed someone and I'm not leaving. So tell me what happened.”  
“This is hard for me, Clara. I've never told anyone, except the police back then. Not even Missy. She just knows what happened because she was there. She was the one who found me, the one who called the ambulance.”  
“You'll be fine,” Clara promised, “It's only me. You can tell me everything. I won't judge you, I'll just listen. And it will not change how I feel about you. I'm sure you'll feel better once it's all off your chest.”  
“I don't want you to understand. If you understand you'll decide to stay and I want you safe. And safe is not with me. I told you, everyone I'm with just ends up broken.”  
“Amy doesn't seem broken to me,” Clara remarked, “Please. Tell me.”  
The Doctor sighed. And finally agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger there last chapter. Now, let's get to the bottom of this. And thank you all for the comments :)


	26. Chapter 26

**7 Years Ago – The Doctor**

Finally he had found her, her purple jacket giving her away even in the darkness and the scarce light of the street lamp. The Doctor didn't know why Rose had come here but the note she had left him scribbled on his canvas had been plain and obvious – even to him. 

_Meet me at our spot._

The bridge was where they had met, where he had first painted her and where he had finally confessed his feelings for her, too. This was it. This was their spot.  
“Rose?” the Doctor asked as he carefully stepped closer.  
Something was off about her but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. When she turned around he noticed that she was crying.  
“Rose? Is something wrong?”  
She smiled at him through her tears. “Everything's wrong, Doctor. Just everything.”  
The Doctor raised his eyebrows, frowning at her. “I don't think I understand. Why did you ask me here?”  
“I've come here a lot lately. You didn't even notice I was gone.”  
“Why?”  
It was all he could ask. The Doctor felt confused because half an hour ago he had been sure that everything was going just fine and now Rose was acting so strangely that it was beginning to scare him.  
“I can't keep doing this, Doctor,” she smiled sadly and before he could even react she had swung a leg over the balustrade of the bridge, and then the other. One moment later Rose was on the other side of it, holding on tight onto the balustrade so as not to fall.  
“Rose?!” he asked, horrified, taking a small step closer, “What are you doing?”  
She smiled at him. She just smiled and it frightened him to the very core. Something was terribly wrong with Rose and the Doctor had no idea what it was or when it had started or what he was supposed to do now. Carefully he stepped even closer and outstretched his hand to her.  
“Rose, take my hand. Climb back over. We'll go home and we'll talk about it. Please,” he said warily.  
Rose shook her head.  
“You don't see me anymore. I'm with you all the time and to you it's like I'm not even there. It's like you're seeing right through me. You just paint and paint and paint and but you never paint _me_ anymore. It's like I don't even exist. I'm _nothing_.”  
“That's not true, Rose. I love you, you're my girlfriend,” the Doctor said gently, still holding out his hand for her to take. It had taken him so long to say these words to her. He had confessed his feelings over a year ago but the three words only now came over his lips.  
“But I'm not your muse any longer. I don't inspire you anymore,” she said angrily, raising her voice now, “I used to be your _everything_. I'm just waiting for someone new to come along. Then you'll have forgotten all about me.”  
“A new muse won't change how I feel about you. You and painting – that's all I have.”  
“ _You_ are all _I_ have, Doctor!” Rose started yelling at him, “And right now I don't even feel like I have you at all.”  
“What about your mother, huh? Your friends? Your job?” he took another step in her direction, “Please, Rose, just come down from there.”  
All of a sudden she broke out into laughter and the Doctor was about to launch forward and grab her, afraid she was going to fall.  
“I've been living with you for a year and you know nothing about me. Nothing! I haven't talked to my mother since I moved out! I haven't talked to any of my friends! I lost my job a few months ago! You're all that I have, Doctor, and you don't even know it!”  
“Rose, please,” the Doctor was only two steps away from her. If he was quick he could reach her, grab her hand before she could do anything stupid, “Let's talk about this.”  
“We are talking, Doctor,” she reminded him.  
“Not like this! Just climb back on my side, please! I am begging you!” he said desperately.  
“And I was begging you to spend some time with me last week. And the week before that. You never did!”  
“I will,” he almost shouted, “I'll do everything you want as soon as you climb back on this side!”  
And then a smile spread on Rose's face. It wasn't a happy one, it wasn't belittling him. It was only serene.  
“Goodbye, Doctor,” she whispered.  
“No! Rose!”  
The Doctor darted forward but when he tried to grab her his hands only found air and a few seconds later he could hear a splash when she hit the water.

Without even thinking about it the Doctor broke out into a run and he didn't stop until he had reached the riverbank. As quickly as he could he tossed his coat aside and jumped into the icy cold water. He couldn't prevent her fall but he wouldn't let her die in this river. The water was biting and the Doctor could feel a sharp pain shoot through his head. He could hardly see a thing as he dove into the river but he had to find her.  
He couldn't say for how long he remained in the water, for how long he remained looking for her but his movements started to grow slow and it became increasingly hard to navigate under water. Every time the Doctor came up to breathe it required more and more strength to go back under. He wasn't sure how long he could keep doing this.  
Then finally he saw Rose just floating around in the water. She looked so peaceful and the Doctor was beginning to wonder if it would be possible to rest down here. He was feeling so tired all of a sudden.  
Somehow he managed to wrap his arms around her and drag both of them to the riverbank. That was when he realized his legs were giving way underneath him and he collapsed right next to Rose, their bodies still halfway in the river. He knew she wasn't breathing. He had to help her. He had to. And then everything went black.

 

* * *

 

There was a monotonous beeping sound disturbing his sleep and it was bright, too bright. But now that he had woken up there was no way back into the peaceful, empty dark so the Doctor opened his eyes.  
It took him a moment to realize that he was in a hospital room and wired up to several machines. When he looked to his left there was the blurry outline of a dark haired woman slowly shifting into focus.  
“Hello there,” she said in a friendly tone, her accent obviously Scottish, like his own, “I'm Missy. I found you by the river. Remember me?”

He tried to. But there was nothing there. Nothing except Rose.  
“Rose,” he said weakly.  
Gently the woman reached for his hand and squeezed it. The warmth of her touch felt quite nice on his skin.  
“I'm sorry,” Missy said sincerely, “I'm afraid your friend didn't make it. I saw what happened on the bridge, I called an ambulance but there was nothing they could do. I'm sorry.”  
“It's my fault,” he whispered, his voice hardly audible even to himself.  
“No,” the woman corrected him, “I saw it. She jumped. It wasn't your fault. You did everything you could to save her. That was very brave of you.”  
She paused for a moment before she spoke again.  
“I came back to the hospital to see if you were okay. They said you caught a pretty bad hypothermia but you'll be fine.”

The Doctor had failed. He should have seen it coming, he was sure there must have been some warning signs. But he never had. He was blind and oblivious but he would never, ever let something like this happen again. From now on he would never touch a muse ever again.  
“I can come back later if you like,” Missy said kindly.  
“Why?” he asked simply.  
Missy just shrugged. “I saved your life. You're kind of my responsibility now,” she replied, granting him a smile.  
The Doctor took a deep breath and finally he nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the lovely comments :) Closing in on the ending now. Hold on tight!


	27. Chapter 27

“No matter what Missy said,” the Doctor told her, “It _was_ my fault. Rose cut all ties to her family and friends, she lost her job and I never knew. She was right, I knew nothing at all about her and I wasn't even aware of it. She was there, that was all that mattered to me.”  
All of a sudden Clara felt incredibly guilty. She understood now, she _really_ understood. The incident on the rooftop in Paris that had brought them closer, his nightmares, his aversion for water, that he had probably gone to that bridge to think after they had slept together, why he was so upset about her not spending time with her family and why he insisted that she needed a life outside of him. It all made sense now. He was terrified that it would all happen again.  
“Except that it wasn't your fault,” Clara said and squeezed his hand more tightly, “It was her decision not to tell you about any of that. Rose was clearly troubled and there was nothing you could have done about that.”  
The Doctor looked at her, the sadness so strong in his eyes that it almost made her cry. If she could she would take all of the pain away from him.  
“We're not going to repeat that, Doctor. I promise,” she told him determinedly.  
“How can you be so sure?”  
Clara gave him the warmest, kindest smile she could muster. “Because we are going to watch out for one another.”  
The Doctor didn't reply.

“Tell me, all of your fears and your doubts aside, do you want to be with me?” Clara asked.  
“That's not something I can just switch off, you know?”  
“Do you or do you not?” she repeated.  
He sighed and took a deep breath, apparently considering his answer for a moment.  
“Of course I want to be with you, Clara. I love you but-”  
“Shh!” Clara hushed him, gently placing a finger on his lips, “We will take care of each other. As long as we don't depend on each other we'll be fine. You'll remind me that I need a life outside of this and I will remind you that there is more than just painting. And you need help, real, _professional_ help.”  
“Clara-”  
“No, no buts. A trauma like this won't just go away, Doctor, and it will keep haunting you unless you do something against it. You need to talk about it. Not just to me.”  
Finally the Doctor had given up protesting and Clara smiled at him before she bent forward to place a soft kiss on his lips.  
“We can make it, you and I.”

 

* * *

 

**Six Months Later**

 

Clara rushed home from school on Friday night and quickly changed into a nicer dress. The Doctor already seemed to be at the gallery, so Clara grabbed her purse and coat and left the house again so as not to miss the entire event. The Doctor and Missy had worked hard for this exhibition at which she would exhibit his paintings only. They had been going over the paintings for weeks in advance, considering which ones to display and which ones not to. And this time they had deliberately included some he had painted of Rose.  
The psychologist the Doctor had been seeing for a while had suggested it and together they had all agreed that it would be a good idea but above all Clara was happy to see that the Doctor was improving. Slowly. Step by step. But the difference was hard not to notice. He still painted a lot, several hours a day but he had also taken on more teaching responsibilities at the Royal College of Art and when he was at home he was carrying an alarm clock with him at all times, reminding him when to eat and when to take a break. The Doctor's obsession with his art had always been there, but it had increased since Rose and together they were working hard to turn him back into a normally functioning human being. Even if that meant that Clara had to leave notes all over the house, reminding him of things he usually forgot over his paintings. By this time their relationship could almost be considered a normal one and Clara knew that she and Doctor had not only the psychologist to thank for that but also his friends, and especially Missy.

Yet it wasn't only the Doctor who had improved, it was Clara as well. Her restlessness was beginning to fade and even though her life was hardly perfect she felt comfortable in her skin again. She had cut ties with Danny completely but still went out with some of her other colleagues from time to time, even though she now preferred the company of Amy and Rory or even Missy. After finishing the painting class the Doctor continued to teach her and they often spent their time painting together. Her family however still wasn't entirely happy with her choice, especially after hearing the Doctor's life story. Clara only hoped that in time they would come to accept him. 

The first people Clara saw when she stepped inside the gallery were Amy, Rory and their daughter Melody and she smiled at the sight of them. They had become closer in the past six months and the Doctor and Amy were patching up their old friendship again as well. Just two weeks ago they had both gone over to their place and the Doctor had painted a family portrait of them all.  
“Clara!” Amy greeted her happily and threw her arms around her, “How are you?”  
“Great and you? Have you seen the Doctor around?”  
“Also great. And yeah,” Amy nodded, “He's around here somewhere.”  
As if on cue Clara was suddenly startled when she felt someone wrap their arms around her waist but then she saw the Doctor place a kiss on her cheek out of the corner of her eye.  
“You're late. Everything okay?” he asked.  
That was another thing they had agreed upon. Whenever he noticed something that was a little different to her usual behaviour the Doctor would ask about it. It was the only way he could make sure he didn't miss anything and he was becoming more and more observant and even considerate over time.  
Clara smiled at him. “Got help up at school. Courtney Woods. Again,” she replied, rolling her eyes.  
“Are your parents coming? Or your grandmother?”  
This time Clara shook her head, the smile fading from her lips. “Dad said he's not so good on his feet after they removed the screws from his back. Grandma didn't want to come alone. But don't worry, they'll warm up to you eventually. Give them time.”  
The Doctor sighed and looked up, freezing as he did. Clara turned around to have a look at who or what he had just spotted and saw Jackie Tyler enter the gallery.

“Come on, let's say hello,” Clara suggested and reached for his arm.  
“Are you sure?” he asked, looking a little frightened.  
Clara had to admit that it had been risky, inviting Jackie to come to the gallery and the Doctor was afraid she would only show up to cause a scene but when Clara looked at her it seemed as if she hadn't put on nice clothes just to make this event a living hell for the Doctor.  
Carefully she led him towards Jackie and greeted her with a friendly smile. Jackie's face however remained cold.  
“You said you still had some paintings of my daughter,” she said matter-of-factly.  
The Doctor cleared his throat. “Yes, yes, I have,” he replied, “They're yours if you want them. After this weekend.”  
Jackie nodded in reply. “I'll have a look at them.”

Once she had left them both standing there the Doctor let out a long breath.  
“Can't wait to get rid of these paintings,” he admitted, “I hope she takes them.”  
“She will,” Clara reassured him, still holding his hand tightly in her own, “Jackie will never be your friend but she knows what really happened now. She can try to move on. Like you.”  
Clara turned around to look at him and gently reached out to touch his face. He smiled down at her.  
“What do you think about spending a part of the summer holidays in Paris?” the Doctor asked her out of the blue, “There are so many things we didn't get to do last time.”  
“Love the idea,” Clara replied happily and turned back around to the visitors of the gallery, spotting Amy and Rory explaining one of the paintings to Melody, Missy chatting with Jackie over one of the portraits of Rose and all the other guests having a good time, enjoying his art and finally she looked back at the Doctor to find him smiling. He still carried the burden of his past on his shoulders and she knew that a part of it would always stay with him, that they both still had a long road ahead of them. But for now he seemed happy and that was all that mattered to her.

 

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so, so, SO much for your continuous support, for reading, for writing comments, for clicking the kudos button. I'm so glad that you've all enjoyed reading this story even though it was a little darker than what I usually write. Thank you so much!
> 
> I am posting the first chapter of my new fic "The Class Trip" along with this one and I hope to see you all again in this lighter, more fun story :)


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